3  6  2  D 


SYLVIA  ARDEN  DECIDES 


THE  SYLVIA  ARDEN  BOOKS 

By  MARGARET  R.  PIPER 

• 

Each  one  volume,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated 
Net  $135  ;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 


Sylvia's  Experiment  :  The  Cheerful  Book 

Trade  Mark 

Sylvia  of  the  Hill  Top  :  The  Second  Cheerful  Book 

Trade  Mark 

Sylvia  Arden  Decides  :  The  Third  Cheerful  Book 

Trade  Mark 


OTHER  STORIES 

By  MARGARET  R.  PIPER 

• 

The  Princess  and  the  Clan,  $1.50 
The  House  on  the  Hill,  $1.50 

• 

THE  PAGE  COMPANY 
53  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


Syhia  j4rden 


SYLVIA  ARDEN 
DECIDES 


BY 
MARGARET   REBECCA  PIPER 

Author  of 
SYLVIA'S  EXPERIMENT  :  THE  CHEERFUL  BOOK  " 

Trade  Mark 

SYLVIA  OF  THE  HILL  TOP:  THE  SECOND  CHEERFUL 
BOOK,"  etc.  Trade  Mark 


ILLUSTRATED   WITH   A   FRONTISPIECE    I»    FULL    COLOR 
BY 

HASKELL  COFFIN 


THE     PAGE     COMPANY 
BOSTON  ^  MDCCCCXVII 


Copyright,  1917, 
BY  THE  PAGE  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  September,  1917 


CONTENTS 

• 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  OF   FUTURES   AND    OTHER    IMPORTANT 

MATTERS i 

II    REASONS  AND  WRAITHS 21 

III  TWENTY-TWO 36 

IV  THE  WAYS  OF  A  MAID 48 

V     SEPTEMBER  AFTERNOON 62 

VI  OF  MISSIONS,  AND  OMISSIONS      ...     76 

VII    OCTOBER  DEVELOPMENTS 93 

VIII     FIRE  AND  FROST 105 

IX  THE  MOTH  AND  THE  STAR      .     .     .     .119 

X    THE  CITY 129 

XI    MARGINS 143 

XII  "  SUCH  STUFF  AS  DREAMS  "  .                    156 

XIII  INTO  HAVEN 167 

XIV  "AND  HAVING  EYES"_^_.     .     .     .179 
XV    THE  CITY  AND  SYLVIA 190 

XVI  As  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN  EXPECTED     .     .  202 

XVII     BARB  DIAGNOSES 211 

XVIII  THE  CAUSE  AND  THE  CAREER      .     .     .  220 

XIX  OH,  SUZANNE!.     .......  229 


2137769 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XX 


PAGE 

SYLVIA  AND  LIFE 238 

A  CHAPTER  OF  REVELATIONS  ....  247 

UNTO  THE  FOREST 258 

AFTERMATH       . 270 

HIGH  TIDE  ...     .     .     .     .     .     .282 

WARP  AND  WOOF 291 

THE  END  AND  THE  BEGINNING    .     .     .  306 


SYLVIA  ARDEN 
DECIDES 


CHAPTER  I 

OF  FUTURES  AND  OTHER   IMPORTANT   MATTERS 

"  I  KNOW  what  the  trouble  with  Sylvia  is,"  an- 
nounced Suzanne,  elevating  herself  on  one  elbow  and 
leaning  forward  out  of  the  hammock  just  enough 
to  select  and  appropriate  a  plump  bonbon  from  the 
box  on  the  wicker  stand  near  by. 

"  Well,"  encouraged  Sylvia,  "  what  is  the  trouble 
with  me?  " 

At  the  moment  as  she  stood  leaning  against  the 
massive  white  pillar  with  a  smile  on  her  lips  and 
in  her  dark  eyes,  the  sunshine  glinting  warm,  red- 
gold  lights  in  her  bronze  hair,  it  seemed  as  if  it 
would  be  hard  indeed  to  find  any  trouble  with  her 
so  completely  was  she  a  picture  of  radiant,  joyous, 
care- free  youth. 

1 


2  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

Suzanne  demolished  her  bonbon,  then  proceeded 
to  expatiate  on  her  original  proposition. 

"  The  trouble  with  you,"  she  averred  oracularly 
from  her  cushions,  "  is  that  you  are  addicted  to  the 
vice  of  contentment." 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  she  be?"  demanded  Bar- 
bara from  the  depths  of  the  huge  arm-chair  which 
nearly  swallowed  her  diminutive  figure.  "  I'd  like 
to  know  who  has  a  better  right?  Hasn't  Sylvia 
this  minute  got  everything  anybody  in  the  world 
could  want?  If  I  had  been  born  to  live  on  a  hill 
top,  like  Sylvia,  I'd  never  leave  it." 

Suzanne  sat  up,  brandishing  a  reproachful  fore- 
finger at  the  speaker. 

"  Barbie  Day !  I  am  shocked  at  you.  What 
would  your  Aunt  Josephine  say  ?  Sylvia,  she  must 
be  packed  off  at  once.  She  mustn't  be  allowed  to 
stay  even  for  the  party.  The  flesh  pots  have  gone 
to  her  head.  Another  day  at  Arden  Hall  will  ruin 
her  for  the  Cause."  And,  with  a  prophetic  shake 
of  her  head,  Suzanne  helped  herself  to  a  "  Turkish 
Delight "  and  relaxed  among  her  cushions,  the  leaf 
green  color  of  which,  contrasting  with  the  pale  pink 
of  her  gown,  made  her  look  rather  like  a  rose,  set 
in  its  calyx.  Suzanne  was  extraordinarily  pretty, 
much  prettier,  in  fact,  than  was  at  all  necessary  for 


Of  Futures  3 

a  young  person  of  distinct  literary  bent  and  a  pro- 
nounced—  audibly  pronounced  —  distaste  for  mat- 
rimony. Thus  Nature,  willfully  prodigal,  lavishes 
her  gifts. 

"  Speak  for  yourself,"  retorted  Barbara  with  un- 
usual spirit.  "If  the  flesh  pots  are  ruining  me 
they  shall  continue  on  their  course  of  destruction 
without  let  or  hindrance  until  Wednesday  next.  I 
was  born  poor,  I  have  lived  poor  and  I  shall  prob- 
ably die  poor,  but  I  am  not  above  participating  in 
the  unearned  increment  when  I  get  a  heavenly 
chance  like  this  blessed  week  and  if  anybody  says 
'  Votes  for  Women  '  to  me  in  the  next  five  days  he 
or  she  is  likely  to  be  surprised.  I  am  going  to  turn 
Lotus  Eater  for  just  this  once.  Don't  disturb 
me."  And  by  way  of  demonstration  Barb  tucked 
one  small  foot  up  under  her,  burrowed  even  deeper 
in  the  heart  of  the  big  chair  and  closed  her  eyes 
with  a  sigh  of  complete  satisfaction. 

In  the  meanwhile  Sylvia  had  absentmindedly 
plucked  a  scarlet  spray  from  the  vine  which  was 
swaying  in  the  September  breeze  just  above  her 
head  and  her  eyes  were  thoughtful.  Unwittingly, 
the  others  had  stirred  mental  currents  which  lay 
always  fairly  near  the  surface  with  her,  suggested 
problems  which  had  been  asserting  themselves  of 


4  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

late  rather  continuously.  The  generous-hearted 
little  schoolgirl  Sylvia  who  had  wanted  to  gather 
all  the  lonely  people  in  the  world  into  her  Christmas 
family,  the  puzzled  Sylvia  who  even  five  years  ago 
had  been  tormented  by  the  baffling  question  why 
she  had  so  much  and  others  so  little  was  still  present 
in  the  Sylvia  of  almost  two  and  twenty  who  consid- 
ered herself  quite  grown  up  and  sophisticated  and 
possessed  a  college  diploma. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  am  so  viciously  contented 
as  you  seem  to  think,  Suzanne,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
haven't  the  slightest  intention  of  staying  on  my  hill 
top,  as  you  mean  it,  Barb.  But  I  can't  just  come 
down  off  it  and  go  tilting  at  windmills  at  random. 
I've  got  to  know  what  my  job  is,  and  I  don't  at  all,  at 
present  —  can't  even  guess  at  it.  All  the  rest  of 
you  girls  had  your  futures  neatly  outlined  and  sub- 
topiced.  Nearly  every  one  in  the  class  knew,  when 
she  graduated  last  June,  just  what  she  wanted  to 
do  or  had  to  do  next.  Every  one  was  going  to 
teach  or  travel,  or  '  slum '  or  study,  or  come  out 
or  get  married.  But  poor  me !  "  Sylvia  shrugged 
humorously,  though  her  eyes  were  still  thoughtful. 
"  I  haven't  any  startling  gifts  or  urgent  duties.  I 
haven't  the  necessity  of  earning  bread  and  butter, 
nor  any  special  cause  to  follow.  It  is  really  hope- 


Of  Futures  5 

less  to  be  so — "  She  groped  for  a  word  then  set- 
tled on  "  unattached." 

"  There  is  more  than  one  male  who  would  be 
willing  to  remedy  that  defect,  I'm  thinking," 
chuckled  Suzanne  wickedly.  "  How  about  the 
person  who  disburses  these  delectable  bonbons? 
Won't  he  do  for  a  cause  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  the  person  being  only  Jack." 

"  Only  Jack,  whom  the  mammas  all  smile  upon 
and  the  daughters  don  their  fetchingest  gowns 
and  their  artf ullest  graces  for  —  quite  the  most  eli- 
gible young  man  in  the  market.  Sylvia,  you  are 
spoiled  if  Jack  Amidon  isn't  good  enough  for 
you!" 

"  I  didn't  say  he  wasn't  good  enough  for  me." 
Sylvia  came  over  to  the  table  to  provide  herself 
with  one  of  Jack's  bonbons  before  seating  herself 
on  the  India  stool  beside  the  hammock  facing  out 
over  the  lawn.  "Jack  is  a  dear,  but  I've  known 
him  nearly  all  my  life,  seems  to  me,  and  even  to 
oblige  you  it  would  be  hard  to  get  up  any  romantic 
thrills  over  him." 

"  Too  bad ! "  murmured  Suzanne,  regretfully. 
"  He  is  so  good  looking.  You  two  would  look 
lovely  prancing  down  the  aisle  together  a  la  Lohen- 
grin." 


6  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Suzanne !  "  Barb  opened  her  eyes  to  expostu- 
late. "  You  are  so  dreadfully  flippant.  I  don't 
believe  anything  is  sacred  to  you." 

Suzanne  laughed.  "  Maybe  not,"  she  admitted. 
Then  she  sat  up  abruptly  to  add,  "  I  forgot  my  Fu- 
ture. I  have  that  shrined  and  canonized  and  burn 
incense  to  it  every  night.  It  is  the  only  thing  in 
the  world  or  out  of  it  I  take  seriously.  I-am-go- 
ing-to-write-plays."  She  thumped  a  plump  green 
cushion  vigorously,  allotting  a  single  thump  to  each 
staccato  syllable.  "  I  may  not  succeed  this  year  or 
next  year  or  in  five  years,  but  some  day  I  shall 
arrive  with  both  feet.  You  two  shall  come  and 
sit  in  my  first-nighter  box  and  it  will  be  some  play !  " 
She  vaunted  slangily,  imparting  a  last  emphatic 
punch  upon  the  acquiescent  cushion  before  she  re- 
linquished it. 

"We'll  be  there,"  promised  Sylvia.  "I  only 
wish  I  had  convictions  like  that  about  my  Future. 
Mine  is  just  a  nebular  hypothesis  at  present.  How 
about  you,  Barbie?  Are  you  as  certain  about  your 
Cause  as  Suzanne  is  about  her  Career?" 

Barb  uncurled  herself  to  testify.  "  Not  a  bit," 
she  sighed.  ;<  You  see,  my  Cause  is  a  sort  of  in- 
herited mantle,  and  I  am  never  sure  whether  it  fits 
or  not,  though  I  never  have  the  slightest  doubt  as 


Of  Futures  7 

to  the  propriety  of  my  attempting  to  wear  it  even 
if  I  have  to  take  tucks  in  it."  Barbara's  eyes 
crinkled  around  the  corners  in  a  way  they  had  when 
she  was  very  much  in  earnest.  "  You  know  it  has 
been  understood  all  along  that  I  was  to  be  Aunt  Jo's 
secretary  and  general  right-hand  man  as  soon  as 
I  graduated.  That  was  what  she  educated  me  for. 
Of  course  I  believe  in  suffrage  and  all  that.  When 
I  hear  Aunt  Jo  talk  I  just  get  thrills  all  up  and 
down  my  spinal  column  and  feel  as  strong  as  Sam- 
son making  ready  to  topple  over  the  pillars,  as  if  I 
could  do  anything  and  everything  to  give  women 
a  chance.  But  when  I  get  away  from  Aunt  Jo  I 
cool  off  disgracefully.  That  is  what  makes  me 
think  sometimes  it  isn't  the  real  fire  I  have  but  a 
sort  of  surface  heat  generated  by  Aunt  Jo's  extra- 
ordinary personal  magnetism  and  fearful  and  won- 
derful vocabulary.  It  worries  me  dreadfully  some- 
times." 

Barb's  small,  brown,  child-like  face  puckered  in 
perplexity  and  her  blue  eyes  blinked  as  if  they  be- 
held too  much  light. 

"  It  needn't,"  commented  Suzanne  sagely.  "  I 
know  you.  By  the  time  you  have  been  flinging 
out  the  banner  six  weeks  you  will  be  white  hot  for 
the  Cause,  especially  if  you  can  somehow  manage 


8  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

to  martyrize  yourself  into  the  bargain.  You  would 
have  made  a  perfect  early  Christian.  I  can  see  you 
smiling  with  glad  Pollyarmaism  into  the  faces  of 
the  abashed  lions." 

"Oh,  Suzanne!" 

Barbara  had  spent  many  minutes  all  told  during 
the  past  four  years  of  her  college  life  saying,  "  Oh, 
Suzanne !  "  in  precisely  that  shocked,  protesting, 
helpless  tone.  The  two  were  the  best  of  friends, 
but  in  code  of  conduct  and  mode  of  thought  they 
were  the  meeting  extremes. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  prescribe  for  me  now  you 
have  diagnosed  my  case?"  Sylvia  came  to  the 
rescue. 

"  I  did  prescribe,  but  you  wouldn't  swallow  Mr. 
Jack  Amidon,  sugar-coated  pill  though  he  is.  How 
about  your  tawny-maned,  giant,  ex- football-hero 
M.  D.  ?  He  isn't  so  good  looking  as  Jack  but  — " 

"  I  think  he  is  much  nicer  looking,"  Barb  inter- 
posed surprisingly,  then  blushed  and  subsided. 

"  Oho !  "  laughed  Suzanne.  "  Better  keep  your 
eye  on  our  Barbie  if  you  want  to  keep  Doctor  Philip 
Lorrimer  on  your  waiting  list,  Sylvia.  Such  un- 
precedented enthusiasm!  And  she  has  beheld  him 
but  once  at  that.  Oh,  the  witchery  of  that  Com- 
mencement moon!  I  inadvertently  nearly  prom- 


Of  Futures  9 

ised  to  marry  Roger  Minot  myself  in  its  specious 
glamour.  I'll  wager  our  demure  Barbie  flirted  with 
your  six-foot  medicine  man  when  you  rashly  left 
him  on  her  hands  on  the  outskirts  of  Paradise. 
'Fess  up,  Barb.  Didn't  you  flirt  a  teeny  weeny  little 
flirt  in  the  moonshine?" 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  denied  Barbara,  flushed  and  in- 
dignant. "  But  I  did  like  Doctor  Lorrimer.  He 
talked  sense,  and  I  was  awfully  interested  in  his 
work  in  the  free  clinic." 

"  Sense !  Shop !  By  moonlight !  Ye  gods !  " 
mocked  Suzanne.  "  Never  mind,  Barbie.  Your 
tactics  were  admirable.  Listen  to  'em.  Keep  on 
listening  to  'em.  It's  what  the  sex  likes.  It  gets 
'em  every  time." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  get  'em,"  protested  Bar- 
bara earnestly. 

Whereupon  Suzanne  giggled  and  tossed  her  vic- 
tim a  silver  sheathed  bonbon  by  way  of  reconcilia- 
tion. Then  she  returned  to  her  charge  upon  Sylvia, 
who  had  sat  silent  during  the  last  sally,  medita- 
tively playing  with  the  spray  of  scarlet  creeper  in 
her  lap. 

"  Sorry,  Sylvia,  belovedest.  But  I  can't  seem  to 
think  of  a  single  suitable  job  for  you  except  matri- 
mony. You  are  eminently  fitted  for  that." 


10  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

Sylvia  looked  up  with  an  expression  half  mirth- 
ful, half  dissenting. 

"  Thanks.  But  at  this  juncture  I  don't  happen 
to  want  to  get  married  one  bit  more  than  you  do, 
which  to  judge  from  your  protestations  and  your 
treatment  of  poor  Roger  isn't  much." 

"  Right  you  are.  No  such  '  cribb'd,  cabin'd  and 
confined '  business  as  matrimony  for  this  child. 
What  was  the  advice  old  Bacon  cites  as  to  when  a 
man  should  marry  ?  '  A  young  man  not  yet,  an 
elder  man,  not  at  all.'  Read  woman  for  man  and 
you  have  my  sentiments  in  a  nutshell." 

"Oh,  Suzanne!"  Thus  the  refrain  from  the 
big  chair.  But  Sylvia  only  laughed,  knowing  what 
Barbara  seemed  never  to  be  able  to  learn,  that  Su- 
zanne rarely  meant  more  than  a  half  or  at  best  a 
quarter  of  what  she  said  and  thoroughly  delighted 
in  being  iconoclastic,  especially  if  the  idols  made 
considerable  noise  smashing,  as  she  would  have  put 
it  herself. 

"  Look  at  your  neighbor,  Mrs.  Doctor  Tom." 
Suzanne  warmed  her  to  her  subject.  "  She  used  to 
write  for  all  the  best  magazines  and  travel  and 
live  the  broadest,  freest,  splendidest  kind  of  life. 
How  does  she  put  in  her  time  now?  Eternally 
making  rompers  for  Marjory,  trying  to  keep 


Of  Futures  11 

Thomas  Junior's  face  clean  and  his  vocabulary  ex- 
purgated, seeing  that  the  dinner  is  warm  and  the 
cook's  temper  cool  when  Doctor  Tom  is  late  to 
meals,  and  so  on  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  chap- 
ter. Only  there  isn't  any  end  to  the  chapter.  It 
goes  on  forever  like  Tennyson's  stupid  brook. 
Bah!  Excuse  me!"  And  Suzanne's  gesture  be- 
tokened insuperable  scorn  for  the  ways  of  the 
wifely. 

"  But  Mrs.  Daly  looks  as  if  she  enjoyed  doing  all 
those  things,  and  I  think  it  is  lovely  to  have  babies." 
There  was  a  little  wistful  note  in  Barb's  voice  as 
she  made  the  statement. 

"  H-mp !  Maybe  so.  But  I  say  it  is  a  shame 
for  anybody  who  could  write  the  way  she  could  to 
give  it  up.  Don't  you,  Sylvia  ?  " 

"  O  dear ! "  groaned  Sylvia.  "  Yes  and  no. 
Why  do  I  always  have  to  see  both  sides  of  things? 
Lois  is  happy.  At  least  I  think  she  is.  You  can't 
always  tell  about  Lois,  she  is  so  cool  and  serene 
and  deep.  Anyway,  the  babies  are  lovely.  But  I 
can't  help  agreeing  with  you  a  little,  Suzanne.  It 
does  seem  a  pity." 

"  Of  course  it  is  a  pity.  And  there  is  your  Fe- 
licia. She  is  another  case  in  point.  She  gave  up 
her  work  and  a  fortune  to  marry  a  man  who  lived 


12  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

just  long  enough  to  leave  her  with  a  big  heartache 
to  carry  round  inside  her  and  two  children  to  pro- 
vide immediate  bread  and  butter  for.  You  can  say 
what  you  like.  I  say  it  was  too  much  of  a  price." 

"  O,  but,  Suzanne,  Marianna  and  Donald  are  such 
dears !  "  pleaded  Barb. 

"Of  course  they  are  dears.  They  are  adorable. 
But  you  can't  deny  they  have  kept  her  back.  She 
is  just  beginning  to  be  a  real  sculptor  after  all  these 
years.  And  now  she  is  beginning  appears  this  Kin- 
nard  person  to  spoil  it  all." 

Sylvia  looked  up  a  trifle  startled. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Suzanne  ?  Mr.  Kinnard 
isn't  spoiling  anything.  He  is  helping.  Felicia 
hasn't  a  bit  of  faith  in  herself.  She  never  would 
have  thought  of  entering  into  that  mural  relief  com- 
petition if  he  hadn't  made  her.  And  I  know  her 
designs  are  going  to  be  splendid.  Mr.  Kinnard 
says  they  are,  and  he  knows." 

Suzanne  shrugged. 

"  I  fear  the  Greeks  bearing  gifts.  No  man  ever 
gave  a  woman  something  for  nothing  since  time 
began.  You'll  see." 

"What  shall  I  see?" 

'  You  might  have  seen  the  way  he  looked  at  your 
Felicia  yesterday  afternoon.  You  needn't  stare. 


Of  Futures  13 

She  is  the  loveliest  thing  imaginable;  and,  anyway, 
widows  always  marry  again.  They  can't  seem  to 
help  it.  It  is  in  the  system." 

"  Oh,  he  looks  at  every  woman.  How  can  he 
help  it  with  eyes  like  that  ?  He  is  much  more  likely 
to  be  wooing  Hope.  He  has  been  sketching  her  all 
summer  and  she  makes  lovely  shy  dryad  eyes  at 
him  while  he  works.  I  don't  see  how  he  can  resist 
her  myself,  she  is  so  deliciously  pretty." 

"  '  A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone.'  Mr.  Kinnard  isn't 
looking  for  violets.  You'll  see,  as  I  said  before." 

And  in  spite  of  her  denial,  Sylvia  couldn't  help 
wondering  if  there  were  any  truth  in  Suzanne's  im- 
plications. She  had  accepted  Stephen  Kinnard 
quite  simply  as  Felicia  had  explained  him,  an  old 
friend  and  fellow  artist  of  Paris  days.  He  had 
been  in  Greendale  nearly  all  summer  doing  some 
sketches  of  Southern  gardens  for  a  magazine,  and 
it  had  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  Sylvia  that  he 
should  come  often  up  the  hill  to  see  Mrs.  Emory. 
They  were  both  artists  and  had  much  in  common 
beside  their  old  friendship.  That  any  factors 
deeper  than  those  which  appeared  on  the  surface 
might  be  keeping  Stephen  Kinnard  in  Felicia's 
proximity  had  not  until  the  moment  occurred  to 
Sylvia.  For  a  moment  it  flashed  across  her  mind 


14  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

how  sadly  Arden  Hall  would  fare  without  Felicia 
who  with  the  dear  "  wonder  babies  "  had  come  to 
help  Sylvia  keep  Christmas  nearly  six  years  ago 
and  had  remained  in  the  old  house  ever  since  to 
its  young  owner's  infinite  content  and  well  being. 

"  I  never  thought  of  Felicia's  marrying  again," 
she  said  after  a  moment  of  silence. 

"  Well,  Stephen  Kinnard  has  thought  of  it,  if  you 
haven't,"  pronounced  Suzanne.  "  By  the  way,  he 
said  a  rather  nice  thing  about  you  yesterday.  He 
said  you  had  a  genius  for  happiness." 

Sylvia  smiled  a  little  as  her  gaze  strayed  past  the 
white  pillars,  past  the  giant  magnolia-tree  lifting  its 
shining  leaves  to  the  sun,  past  the  pink  and  white 
glory  of  cosmos  and  the  dial  beyond,  dedicating 
itself  discreetly  to  none  but  sunny  hours;  beyond 
still  farther  to  the  clear  turquoise  space  of  sky  visi- 
ble behind  it  all. 

"  Being  happy  isn't  much  of  an  art  when  you 
can't  help  being  it,"  she  said,  her  gaze  and  her 
thoughts  coming  back  from  their  momentary  jour- 
ney. 

"  Oh,  but  he  didn't  mean  just  your  being  happy," 
put  in  Barb  in  her  quick,  serious  way.  "  He  meant 
your  way  of  making  other  people  happy.  It's  true. 
I  noticed  it  often  in  college.  But  it  is  truer  than 


Of  Futures  15 

ever  here.  Everybody  in  Arden  Hall  is  happy.  It 
is  like  Shakespeare's  forest.  It  makes  you  feel  dif- 
ferent—  not  just  only  happy  but  better,  being 
here." 

"  That  is  the  house.  It  has  been  like  that  ever 
since  I  had  my  Christmas  family  here.  Of  course, 
it  is  really  mostly  Felicia.  She  is  the  mainspring 
of  it  all.  But  we  like  to  pretend  there  is  something 
magic  about  the  house  itself.  You  don't  know  how 
I  love  every  stick  and  brick  of  it.  I  have  never 
had  half  enough  of  it.  I  have  been  in  school  so 
much,  I've  only  snatched  a  few  vacations  on  the 
wing,  as  it  were,  and  even  that  only  in  the  last 
few  years  since  I  captured  Felicia.  Ugh !  No- 
body knows  how  I  hated  those  dreadful  holidays 
in  hotels  after  Aunt  Nell  died  and  I  came  to  Amer- 
ica. And  nobody  knows  how  I  love  this."  Her 
expansive  gesture  made  "  this  "  include  house  and 
lawn  and  magnolia  and  pink  and  white  bloom  and 
sun  dial  and  all  the  rest,  perhaps  even  the  turquoise 
stretch  of  sky.  "  I've  never  had  my  fill  of  home- 
ness,"  she  concluded. 

"  Funny ! "  mused  Suzanne.  "  Now,  I  don't 
want  to  be  at  home  at  all.  Norton  is  such  a  stuffy, 
snippy,  gossipy,  little  town,  and  I  loathe  being 
officially  the  '  parson's  daughter.'  Sometimes  it 


16  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

used  to  seem  to  me  I'd  rather  throw  myself  in  the 
river  than  go  to  another  prayer  meeting  and  hear 
Deacon  Derby  drone  out  minute  instructions  to  the 
Lord  as  to  how  he  should  manage  his  business. 
And  being  home  isn't  so  sweet  and  simple  as  it 
seems  either.  I  adore  my  mother,  but -we  don't  see 
two  things  alike  in  the  wide  world.  She  likes  the 
chairs  stiff  and  straight  against  the  walls,  just  in 
the  same  position  year  in,  year  out.  I  like  'em  at 
casual  experimental  angles,  different  every  day. 
That  is  typical  of  our  two  viewpoints.  She  likes 
things  eternally  straight  and  the  same.  I  like  'em 
eternally  on  the  bias  and  different.  We  can't 
either  of  us  help  it.  We  are  made  that  way.  And 
we're  both  more  or  less  miserable,  whether  we  give 
in  or  whether  we  don't.  Mother  and  Dad  are  reg- 
ular darlings,  both  of  them,  but  I  don't  mean  to  stay 
at  home  with  them  a  bit  more  than  I  can  help. 
They  don't  need  me.  They  are  perfectly  used  to 
doing  without  me  and  are  really  much  happier  sans 
Suzanne.  I  just  stir  things  up  and  they  like  to 
snuggle  down  in  their  nice  comfortable  ruts.  I've 
got  to  live  in  New  York.  I'd  smother  in  Norton, 
Pa." 

"  Roger  doesn't  seem  to  be  smothering  in  Nor- 
ton," Sylvia  reminded  her.     "  Jack  stopped  over  to 


Of  Futures  17 

see  him  last  week  and  he  said  Roger  was  stirring 
things  up  with  a  vengeance  since  he  has  been  sit- 
ting among  the  city  fathers." 

"  Oh,  Roger !  "  Suzanne  shrugged  Roger  away 
as  entirely  negligible.  "  Roger  Minot  would  stir 
things  up  in  a  graveyard.  He  likes  to  live  in  a 
small  town.  I  don't.  The  biggest  city  in  the  world 
isn't  one  bit  too  big  for  me.  New  York  for  mine. 
Better  change  your  mind,  Sylvia,  and  come  on,  too. 
There  will  be  plenty  of  room  in  my  garret.  More 
room  than  anything  else  probably.  Aunt  Sarah's 
legacy  has  its  limits,  more's  the  pity.  But  come 
on  and  share  my  crust." 

"  Maybe  I  will,  temporarily.  I've  promised 
Jeanette  Latham  to  visit  her  next  winter  and  I'll 
include  you  and  Barb  in  my  rounds  if  invited." 

"Jeanette  Latham?  Mrs.  Francis  VanDycke 
Latham  ?  The  Mrs.  Latham  who  figures  in  '  Van- 
ity Fair '  and  the  Sunday  supplement  ?  The  only 
Jack's  sister?  There  will  be  some  contrast  between 
visiting  her  and  visiting  me.  She  inhabits  a  Du- 
plex on  the  Drive,  doesn't  she?  One  of  the  utterly 
utter." 

"  That  depends.  Mr.  Latham  is  awfully  rich 
and  old  family,  if  that  is  what  you  mean,  and  Jean- 
ette does  like  to  be  at  the  extreme  of  everything, 


18  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

but  underneath  all  her  dazzle  and  glitter  she  is 
really  as  simple  and  genuine  as  Jack  is.  I  like  her, 
and  she  is  Jack's  favorite  sister." 

"  Which  helps,"  murmured  Suzanne.  "  See 
here,  Sylvia,  if  you  once  get  into  that  high  society 
labyrinth  you'll  never  get  out." 

"  Oh,  yes  I  shall  —  unless  the  Minotaur  gets  me. 
I  just  want  a  bit  of  Jeanette's  kind  of  life  to  see 
what  it  is  really  like.  In  fact,  I  want  to  try  all 
kinds." 

Sylvia  smiled  as  she  spoke,  but  she  meant  her 
last  assertion  for  all  that.  Hers  was  an  eager, 
active,  questing  temperament.  She  was  avid  for 
life  in  its  entirety,  with  a  healthy  zest  for  expe- 
rience whose  sword  blades  rather  than  poppy  seeds 
appealed  to  her  just  now,  as  is  natural  with  youth. 
The  college  world  from  which  she  had  been  recently 
emancipated,  full  and  various  and  strenuous  as  it 
had  often  been,  had  never  fully  satisfied  her  free, 
quick,  young  spirit.  She  had  always  the  memory 
of  those  early  rich  years  in  Paris  with  her  aunt 
from  which  to  draw  comparison.  She  had  once 
complained  to  Felicia  that  college  was  too  much  like 
the  Lady  of  Shallott's  tower  whose  occupants  per- 
ceived life  in  a  polished  mirror  instead  of  in  direct 
contact.  She  was  already  frankly  a  little  tired  of 


Of  Futures  19 

"  shadows,"  ready  for  the  real  thing,  whatever  that 
was. 

"  Maybe  I  am  glad  I  don't  have  to  do  any  one 
thing,"  she  continued.  "  All  through  school  you 
are  so  pushed  and  guarded  and  guided  and  in- 
structed you  don't  have  half  a  chance  to  be  your- 
self. I'm  thankful  for  a  breathing  space  to  find 
out  who  I  really  am." 

"  Why,  Sylvia !  How  funny !  "  puzzled  Barb. 
"  Don't  you  know  all  about  yourself  ?  " 

"No,  do  you?" 

Barbara  shook  her  head  with  a  faint  sigh. 

"  Maybe  not.  Or,  if  I  do,  I  don't  let  myself  look 
at  the  real  Barb  for  fear — "  She  broke  off  and 
Suzanne  intervened. 

"  Well,  I  know  all  there  is  to  know  about  Su- 
zanne Morrison.  I  have  taken  considerable  pains 
to  get  acquainted,  in  fact.  It  is  great  to  know  pre- 
cisely what  you  want  and  that  you  are  going  to  get 
it  sooner  or  later."  Thus  the  sublime  arrogance 
of  the  young  twenties. 

"  I  wish  I  did !  "  said  Sylvia  quickly. 

"Which?" 

"  Both,"  parried  Sylvia. 

But  Barb,  who  was  watching  her,  was  aware  of 
something  in  her  friend's  face  which  she  could  not 


20  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

quite  fathom.  Was  it  possible  there  was  anything 
in  the  world  Sylvia  Arden  wanted  and  could  not 
have?  It  was  a  startling  thought  to  Barb,  who 
was  accustomed  to  considering  Sylvia  as  the  Prin- 
cess of  all  the  Heart's  Desires. 

Just  then  the  Japanese  gong  from  within  sent 
out  its  silver-tongued  invitation.  With  the  alac- 
rity of  the  healthily  hungry  and  heart-free  the  three 
friends  rose,  the  conclave  ended,  consigning  to  tem- 
porary oblivion  Causes,  Careers  and  all  Concomi- 
tant Problems. 


CHAPTER  II 

REASONS  AND  WRAITHS 

MRS.  EMORY  laid  down  her  sewing  on  the  porch 
table  and  rose  to  greet  Stephen  Kinnard,  a  tall, 
lean  man  with  a  rather  angular  but  interesting  face, 
with  hair  slightly  graying  on  the  temples,  and  re- 
markably beautiful  eyes,  slate-gray  shot  with  tiny 
topaz  colored  flecks,  eyes  which  as  Sylvia  said 
"  looked  "  at  women.  They  looked  now,  which  was 
scarcely  strange  considering  how  beautiful  Felicia 
Emory  was  at  thirty-three. 

"  Will  you  have  tea?  "  inquired  Felicia. 

"  Thanks,  no."  He  shook  his  head  with  a  hu- 
morous gesture.  "  I've  taken  tea  at  the  Oriole  Inn 
—  almost  forcible  feeding,  in  fact.  It  seems 
they  are  serving  a  new  kind  of  sandwich  to-day 
and  Sylvia  waylaid  me  and  insisted  on  trying  it  on 
the  dog  so  to  speak.  She  and  Suzanne  and  Barbara 
and  Martha  and  Hope  all  stood  by  to  watch  the 
effect.  I  was  never  so  nervous  in  my  life.  May 

I  smoke  to  calm  my  spirit?  " 

21 


22  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

Felicia  nodded  assent  and  sat  down,  resuming 
her  sewing. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  still  survive,"  she  said,  as 
he  lit  his  cigarette  and  dropped  into  a  near-by  chair. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  still  survive.  It  was  really  an  ex- 
cellent sandwich  in  its  way,  though  I  should  hate  to 
have  to  pass  an  examination  on  its  contents.  It 
was  one  of  Sylvia's  inventions  it  seems.  Tell  me, 
does  she  have  the  whole  Hill  on  her  hands?  First 
it's  a  garden  party  at  '  Hester  house,'  Sylvia  at 
the  helm;  then  it  is  the  Byrd  sisters  who  have  to 
be  petted  or  scolded  or  braced,  or  a  patient  of 
Doctor  Tom's  who  needs  attention,  or  his  babies 
that  have  to  be  story-told  to,  or  Marianna  and  Don- 
ald who  have  to  have  her  assistance  in  a  dramatic 
performance  of  Lord  Ullin's  Daughter.  I  heard 
her  shouting  '  I'll  forgive  your  Highland  Chief ' 
yesterday  while  the  kids  eloped  in  the  hammock, 
amidst  high  billows,  I  judge  from  the  way  the  boat 
was  rocking.  To-day  it  is  the  Oriole  Inn  sandwich. 
She  is  a  most  remarkable  young  person,  this  Sylvia 
of  yours,  with  a  most  insatiable  energy." 

"  She  is,  indeed,"  agreed  Felicia  heartily.  "  The 
Hill  can  hardly  get  along  without  Sylvia.  We  all 
mope  and  get  selfish  and  lazy,  what  she  calls  '  rutty  ' 
when  she  is  away  from  it.  I  am  so  glad  she  is  home 


Reasons  and  Wraiths  23 

for  keeps  now.  The  Hill  is  never  quite  the  same 
without  her." 

"  But  she  won't  stay  on  it  forever,"  warned 
Stephen  Kinnard.  "  She  is  a  live  wire  —  that 
young  lady.  She  isn't  going  to  be  content  to  settle 
down  on  even  so  lovely  a  hill  as  hers.  Also  she  is 
more  than  likely  to  get  married." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  sighed  Felicia. 

"  What  a  lugubrious  tone  to  vouchsafe  to  the 
holy  state !  "  he  teased. 

"  It  isn't  the  holy  state  in  itself.  It  is  Sylvia.  I 
hate  to  have  her  get  grown  up  and  married  and 
settled  down.  I'd  like  to  keep  things  just  as  they 
are  for  awhile.  The  dread  of  changes  seems  to 
grow  on  me  as  I  get  old." 

Felicia  smiled  as  she  made  the  statement  but 
there  was  genuine  feeling  behind  it. 

"Would  you  dread  change  for  yourself?" 

"  For  myself  ?  I  don't  know.  I  wasn't  think- 
ing especially  about  myself." 

"  Do  you  ever?" 

"  Not  oftener  than  is  agreeable.  I  am  getting 
to  be  a  very  placid,  settled  sort  of  person.  That  is 
the  comfort  of  being  in  the  thirties.  You  don't  ex- 
pect so  much  of  life.  Now,  ten  years  ago  if  I  had 
been  thinking  of  submitting  designs  for  a  competi- 


24  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

tion  I  should  have  been  frightfully  excited.  Now, 
I  think  I  would  almost  rather  not  win,  which  is 
fortunate  considering  how  little  chance  there  is  of 
my  doing  so." 

"  There  is  all  the  chance  in  the  world,"  objected 
Stephen.  "  You  need  a  little  of  the  virus  of  vanity 
instilled  into  you.  Felicia,  do  you  remember  back 
there  in  Paris  when  old  Regnier  used  to  insist  you 
had  more  talent  than  any  man  in  his  class  ?  " 

Felicia  tranquilly  snipped  off  her  thread  and  ad- 
mitted that  she  remembered. 

"  And  do  you  remember  how  he  raved  when  you 
told  him  you  were  going  to  marry  Syd?  " 

Felicia  nodded.  She  remembered  that,  too;  re- 
membered also,  though  she  did  not  say  so,  how  she 
had  smiled  at  the  old  master's  ravings,  sure  that 
love  would  prove  no  hindrance  to  her  art,  sure  that 
she  and  Sydney  would  work  and  achieve  fame  to- 
gether. She  had  not  dreaded  changes  in  those  days. 
She  had  welcomed  them,  taken  risks  blithely,  un- 
afraid. And  there  had  been  risks.  Her  aunt  had 
raved  also,  to  more  purpose  than  the  Master,  and 
in  a  moment  of  rage  had  changed  her  will,  cutting 
off  from  inheritance  the  willful  girl  who  chose  to 
reject  the  French  count  her  judicious  relative  had 
selected  for  her  and  insisted  on  marrying  instead 


Reasons  and  Wraiths  25 

a  penniless  artist.  The  loss  of  her  inheritance  had 
seemed  to  Felicia  at  the  time  a  trifle  light  as  air, 
quite  as  irrelevant  indeed  as  the  Master's  gloomy 
prediction  as  to  the  eternal  incompatibility  of  art 
and  matrimony.  All  these  things  she  had  thrown 
into  the  scales  with  love  in  the  opposite  balance 
and  love  had  weighed  immeasurably  heaviest. 

There  had  followed  a  few  years  of  idyllic  hap- 
piness. Though  with  the  coming  of  the  babies  the 
art  she  loved  had  been  temporarily  suspended;  both 
she  and  her  husband  promised  themselves  eagerly 
that  it  was  only  a  suspension,  that  she  would  go 
back  to  it  again  as  soon  as  Marianna  and  Brother 
were  just  a  little  older.  But  before  Marianna  and 
Brother  were  much  older  Felicia  was  left  alone 
with  a  "  big  heartache  to  carry  round  inside  her  and 
two  children  to  provide  immediate  bread  and  butter 
for,"  as  Suzanne  had  put  it.  And  so  the  old  dreams 
had  been  thrust  out  of  sight,  and  the  young  woman 
whom  the  Master  pronounced  to  have  possessed 
more  talent  than  twenty  talented  young  men,  fell 
to  earning  a  living  for  herself  and  her  little  folk 
by  painting  place  cards  and  Christmas  greetings  and 
calendars  and  such  like  small  ilk.  All  this  drifted 
in  retrospect  through  Felicia  Emory's  mind  as  she 
bent  over  her  sewing,  and  something  in  the  droop 


26  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

of  her  mouth  touched  Stephen  as  he  perceived  it. 
Impulsively  he  threw  away  his  cigarette  and  leaned 
forward  letting  his  hand  touch  hers. 

"  Felicia,  forgive  me !  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt 
you." 

"  You  didn't.  It  just  came  back  to  me  for  a  mo- 
ment how  fearfully  young  and  happy  and  ignorant 
I  was  in  those  days.  But  with  all  the  wisdom  I've 
garnered  since,  if  I  had  it  to  do  over  again,  I  sup- 
pose I  should  travel  precisely  the  same  road.  Isn't 
it  queer,  Stephen?  Don't  you  feel  that  way  about 
the  past,  too?" 

"  No,  my  road  was  too  devilish  rough.  I'd  like 
it  different." 

Felicia  looked  up,  surprised  both  at  his  words 
and  the  unusual  passion  in  his  voice. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  have  ever  forgotten  I  didn't 
get  what  I  wanted?  Felicia,  I  loved  you  before 
Syd  ever  saw  you." 

"  I  know.  I'm  sorry.  I  was  always  sorry. 
You  know  that,  Stephen." 

"  You  needn't  be.  Loving  you  made  a  man  of 
me,  though  it  did  make  the  road  rough.  Things  had 
come  my  way  rather  too  easily  up  to  that  time. 
Syd  was  the  better  man.  I  always  owned  that." 

'•'  You  were  fine,  Stephen.     I've  never  forgotten 


Reasons  and  Wraiths  27 

how  fine.  And  Sydney  cared  more  for  you  than 
for  any  one  else  in  the  world  —  barring  us."  She 
smiled  a  little  and  her  eyes  strayed  out  to  the  mag- 
nolia tree  beneath  whose  generous  shade  Marianna 
and  Donald  were  laboriously  engaged  in  the  con- 
struction of  a  kite  with  much  chatter  and  argu- 
ment. 

"  Felicia." 

"Yes?" 

"  Are  you  so  afraid  of  change  you  wouldn't  risk 
beginning  over  again  —  with  me  ?  " 

Felicia's  sewing  dropped  in  her  lap  and  her  blue 
eyes  opened  wide  with  surprise  and  consternation 
as  she  looked  up  to  meet  his  dark,  eager  eyes. 

"Stephen!" 

"  Well  ?  Is  it  so  impossible  to  conceive  ? 
Haven't  you  guessed  I  was  going  to  ask  it  sooner 
or  later?" 

"  No.     Oh,  Stephen,  I  wish  you  hadn't." 

"  Why  ?  I  don't  expect  the  same  kind  of  love 
you  gave  Syd.  You  couldn't  give  it,  of  course. 
That  is  past.  But  you  are  too  young  to  have  life 
stop  altogether  for  you  —  too  young  and  too  lovely. 
Other  men  will  ask  it  if  I  don't,  and  I  —  well,  I  want 
to  get  in  ahead."  He  laughed  boyishly,  but  his 
eyes,  which  were  grave  enough,  never  left  her  face. 


28  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Is  there  any  reason  you  couldn't  say  yes  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  are  many.  One  of  them  — 
rather  two  of  them  —  are  out  under  the  tree  at 
present." 

His  gaze  followed  her  gesture. 

"  Are  they  really  a  reason  ?  I  love  the  kiddies 
and  they  like  me.  Surely  it  would  be  no  injustice 
nor  detriment  to  them.  Why  should  it?  " 

"  Not  to  them  —  rather  to  you  —  to  any  man  I 
married.  They  are  a  very  piece  of  me.  They  are 
me.  If  there  ever  came  to  be  a  decision  between 
them  and  —  well,  call  the  man  you  —  I  should  de- 
cide for  them.  Is  that  fair  to  you?  Would  you 
risk  it?" 

"  Willingly.  Why  should  there  be  any  decision 
or  division?  What  do  you  think  I  am?  If  I 
marry  you  I  marry  them  too.  I  am  crazy  over 
children.  I've  always  wanted  them." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Felicia  quietly.  "  That  would 
be  part  of  the  injustice  to  you.  I  don't  want  chil- 
dren. Marianna  and  Donald  are  enough." 

"  So  they  would  be  for  me.  Felicia,  can't  you 
understand,  I  want  nothing  except  what  you  want 
—  what  will  make  you  happy  ?  Is  there  any  other 
reason?" 


Reasons  and  Wraiths  29 

"  Yes,  she  is  coming  up  the  Hill  now." 

He  turned  quickly  and  saw  Sylvia,  with  her 
friends  on  either  side,  just  going  up  the  path  which 
led  to  the  door  of  the  Byrd  sisters  preparatory  to 
an  afternoon  call. 

"  What  nonsense !  "  He  turned  back  to  Felicia 
to  protest.  "  Sylvia  would  be  the  last  to  stand  in 
the  way  of  your  happiness." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that.  But  listen,  Stephen.  You 
accused  me  of  not  understanding  a  moment  ago. 
Now  it  is  you  who  do  not  understand.  Do  you 
know  what  Sylvia  has  been  to  me  all  these  years? 
No,  you  couldn't  possibly  know.  No  man  could. 
Six  years  ago  I  was  weary  almost  unto  death,  and 
discouraged  with  a  weight  of  hopelessness  which 
was  beginning  to  make  even  the  children  seem  a 
burden.  That  Christmas  was  the  blackest  time  of 
all  the  months  since  Sydney  went.  I  tell  you  hon- 
estly it  didn't  seem  as  if  I  could  go  on  with  it  all.  I 
was  too  near  the  breaking  point.  And  then 
straight  out  of  the  delightful  good  fairyland  where 
she  lives  came  Sylvia  begging  me  to  be  her  Christ- 
mas sister  and  bring  the  babies  to  round  out  her 
magic  Christmas  circle.  I  believe  it  was  Sylvia's 
smile  and  Sylvia's  pleading  eyes  that  began  to  heal 
the  hurt  in  me  then  and  there.  I  have  had  lonely 


30  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

moments  since,  of  course,  and  some  black  ones, 
too,  but  they  have  never  been  so  bad  since  that 
Christmas.  Do  you  wonder  that  next  to  my  own 
children  I  care  more  for  Sylvia  and  her  happiness 
than  for  anything  else  in  the  world  ?  " 

Stephen  shook  his  head  soberly,  trying  his  best 
to  understand  since  she  desired  it. 

"  After  the  Christmas  family  scattered  I  came  to 
be  what  Sylvia  calls  her  homekeeper  and  that  I  have 
been  for  over  five  years  now.  You  can  see  a  little 
what  it  has  meant  to  me  to  have  a  home  like  Arden 
Hall  for  the  children  to  grow  up  in  instead  of  a 
cramped  city  apartment  with  no  outdoors  except 
public  parks  to  play  in.  It  has  made  all  the  differ- 
ence in  the  world  to  them  and  to  me,  body,  mind 
and  soul.  I  couldn't  have  been  half  a  mother  to 
them  the  way  I  was  working  and  living.  And  all 
of  this  we  owe  to  Sylvia." 

"  But  you  have  rendered  good  measure.  You 
have  given  her  a  home  no  less  than  she  has  given 
you  one.  It  has  been  a  fair  exchange." 

"  I  know.  It  has  meant  almost  as  much  to 
Sylvia  as  it  has  to  me.  It  has  given  us  both  what 
we  wanted  most.  I  don't  pretend  it  hasn't  been 
give  and  take.  It  has.  But  this  one  year  is  the 
one  of  all  the  six  since  I've  known  Sylvia  that  she 


Reasons  and  Wraiths  31 

needs  me  most.  I  wouldn't  fail  her  now  for  any- 
thing." 

"  And  they  say  women  have  no  sex  loyalty,"  mut- 
tered Stephen  Kinnard.  "  See  here,  Felicia,  do 
you  realize  you  have  as  good  as  accepted  me  ?  " 

"  Accepted  you !  I  have  been  refusing  you  with 
reasons  for  fifteen  minutes."  Felicia's  serene  voice 
was  a  bit  ruffled  and  there  was  a  flush  in  her  cheeks. 

"  You've  been  giving  reasons,  I  grant  you,  but 
not  refusal.  Look  at  me,  Felicia.  If  there  weren't 
any  Marianna  and  Donald  and  Sylvia  in  the  world 
wouldn't  you  say  this  minute,  '  Stephen,  I'll  marry 
you  just  as  soon  as  you  can  get  the  license '  ?  No 
quibble  now.  Honest." 

Felicia  laughed  softly  and  her  flush  deepened. 

"If  there  weren't  any  Marianna  and  Donald  and 
Sylvia  in  the  world  I  should  be  so  desperately  lone- 
some I  should  tell  the  first  man  that  asked  me  I 
would  marry  him  as  soon  as  he  could  get  the  license, 
but  seeing  that  there  are  Marianna  and  Donald  and 
Sylvia,  not  only  in  the  world  but  on  this  very  Hill, 
I  am  not  in  the  least  lonesome  and  quite  satisfied 
with  my  mothering-sistering  job,  thank  you." 

"Then  it  is  really  no?" 

The  mirth  died  out  of  her  eyes  at  the  gravity  of 
his  tone. 


32  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Yes,  Stephen.  I  am  sorry,  but  it  is  really  no. 
Aside  from  Sylvia  and  the  children  there  would 
always  be  Sydney.  You  are  too  fine  to  be  a  second 
best,  Stephen,  dear.  Do  go  and  find  somebody 
who  is  fresher  and  younger  and  less  —  tired  than 
I  am." 

At  her  words  there  rose  to  both  their  minds  a 
vision  of  Hope  Williams'  dainty,  wild  rose  beauty 
and  wistful  "  dryad "  eyes.  Stephen  had  been 
sketching  her  only  that  morning  in  the  Oriole  Inn 
garden  and  every  line  of  her  exquisite,  fragile, 
flowerlike  face  and  lithe,  graceful  young  body  was 
in  his  head  still.  And  Felicia  had  more  than  once 
surprised  an  unforgettable  expression  in  Hope's 
eyes  when  the  artist  had  come  suddenly  into  the 
girl's  presence.  Hope  was  young,  younger  than 
Sylvia,  and  Stephen  Kinnard  was  forty.  But  he 
was  of  the  eternally  young  type  of  man,  brimming 
over  with  that  inexplicable,  irresistible  thing  we  call 
charm,  and  his  years  abroad  had  stamped  him  with 
a  picturesque,  foreign  quality  which  was  sure  to 
appeal  to  the  romantic  fancy  of  youth.  One  ardent 
gaze  from  those  strange,  gold-flecked  eyes  of  his 
had  no  doubt  been  enough  to  set  many  a  maid 
dreaming  ere  this,  and  he  had  been  kind  to  Hope, 
perhaps  more  than  kind  for  all  Felicia  knew. 


Reasons  and  Wraiths  33 

But  already  the  vision  of  Hope  had  vanished 
from  Stephen's  mind.  He  saw  only  the  mature 
grace  and  loveliness  of  the  woman  who  had  long 
ago  been  the  one  fixed  star  of  his  errant  youth  and 
to  whom  he  now  brought  the  homage  of  ripened 
manhood. 

"  I  don't  want  anybody  in  the  smallest  particular 
different  from  yourself,  sweet  Lady  Love.  Don't 
worry  though,"  as  he  saw  her  troubled  eyes.  "  I 
am  not  going  to  pester  you.  I  shall  take  myself 
off  to-morrow  but  I  shall  come  back  and  some  day 
I  shall  surprise  you  in  a  lonely  hour  and  you  will 
say,  *  Stephen,  do  hurry  and  get  the  license.' ' 

Seeing  his  whimsical,  reassuring  smile,  Felicia 
smiled  back,  half  relieved,  and  indeed  not  quite 
knowing  how  much  of  it  all  had  been  in  earnest; 
glad,  at  all  events,  to  have  him  slip  back  so  easily 
into  the  familiar  channels  of  friendliness. 

And  just  then  the  girls,  having  finished  their  call, 
came  gayly  chattering  up  the  walk,  demanding  of 
Stephen  whether  he  had  suffered  any  ill  effects  from 
the  experimental  sandwich  he  had  so  manfully  en- 
countered. And  amidst  the  general  confusion  of 
talk  and  laughter  Stephen  rose  to  take  his  depar- 
ture, giving  no  hint  of  finality  about  his  leave  tak- 
ing, except  a  slightly  lengthened  clasp  of  Felicia's 


34  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

hand  and  a  steady  gaze  into  her  blue  eyes.  Con- 
sequently the  girls,  at  least,  were  considerably  sur- 
prised the  next  day  to  receive  three  boxes  of  sweet 
peas  each  with  Stephen  Kinnard's  card,  rose  pink 
for  Suzanne,  shell  pink  for  Barb,  delicate  lavendar 
for  Sylvia.  Sylvia's  box  also  contained  a  charming 
little  note  thanking  the  girl  for  her  summer's  hos- 
pitality and  regretting  that  the  writer  was  called 
out  of  town  without  opportunity  for  formal  fare- 
wells. For  Felicia  had  come  violets,  but  no  word 
at  all,  not  even  a  card. 

"  H-m-m,"  murmured  the  astute  Suzanne,  when 
the  girls  were  alone,  "  Called  out  of  town,  indeed ! 
Needn't  tell  me.  Your  Felicia  didn't  have  such  a 
becoming  extra  bloom  yesterday  for  nothing.  You 
are  safe  for  the  present,  Sylvia.  She  evidently 
dismissed  him." 

Down  the  Hill,  at  the  Oriole  Inn,  Hope  and  Mar- 
tha Williams  reigned  in  the  absence  of  the  young 
proprietor  who  since  her  grandmother's  death  had 
been  traveling  in  Europe  with  the  Armstrongs, 
her  sister  Constance  and  her  husband,  Sylvia's  erst- 
while gardener;  And  to  the  Oriole  Inn  also  came 
flowers,  dainty,  half-open,  pink  rosebuds  nestled  in 
maidenhair  fern.  Came  also  a  brotherly  affection- 
ate note  of  thanks  and  adieu  from  the  artist. 


Reasons  and  Wraiths  35 

"  The  sketches  are  bound  to  be  a  success,"  he 
wrote,  "  for  you  are  the  very  spirit  of  Southern 
gardens,  the  veriest  rose  of  them  all."  So  he  had 
put  it,  poet  fashion,  and  Hope,  with  fluttering  pink 
and  white  in  her  cheeks,  ran  off  to  enjoy  her  treas- 
ures in  happy  solitude,  leaving  her  sister  Martha 
stolidly  measuring  lengths  for  the  new  dining-room 
curtains.  No  one  had  ever  sent  roses  to  Martha  in 
all  her  life.  Nor  had  any  one  ever  written  poet 
lines  about  her  or  to  her.  She  was  not  that  kind, 
as  she  would  herself  have  explained.  But  it  was 
not  that  that  brought  a  wry  twist  to  her  lips  and  a 
worried  look  to  her  eyes  as  she  bent  over  her  work. 

"  Why  couldn't  he  a  been  a  little  meaner  to  her  ?  " 
she  demanded  of  the  curtains.  "  'Twould  have 
been  a  whole  lot  kinder  than  being  kind." 

In  which  theory  she  unconsciously  paraphrased 
the  words  of  a  person  she  had  never  heard  of,  an- 
other perturbed  guardian  of  another  flower-like 
maid,  the  Lily  Maid  of  Astolat.  Of  Launcelots 
and  Elaines  there  are  a  plenty  in  this  somewhat  un- 
economical world. 


CHAPTER  III 

TWENTY-TWO 

"  PLEASE,  Felicia.  Look  at  me.  Am  I  all 
right?" 

Mrs.  Emory  turned  from  her  mirror  before 
which  she  had  been  adjusting  a  last  hairpin  in  her 
blond  hair  and  smiled  at  the  radiant  vision  which 
hovered  on  her  threshold.  But  before  she  had  time 
to  render  verdict  the  vision  ceased  to  be  stationary 
and  became  before  her  eyes  a  vivid,  ecstatic  flash  and 
whirl  of  white  chiffon  and  silver. 

"  Bless  us,  child !  "  laughed  Felicia.  "  You  are 
as  bad  as  Marianna.  How  can  I  tell  anything 
about  you  when  you  are  spinning  like  a  Dervish? 
You  look  as  if  you  might  float  out  the  window  any 
minute  and  join  the  moon  sprites." 

Sylvia  laughed,  too,  and  came  to  a  halt,  though 
one  silver  slipper  paused  tip  toe  as  if  it  scorned 
prosaic  levels  and  held  itself  ready  for  further  airy 
revolutions. 

"  And    leave    my    birthday   party !     Not    much ! 

36 


Twenty-Two  37 

The  moon  sprites  shan't  get  me  to-night.  Honest, 
Felicia,  I  just  can't  keep  still.  I'm  too  alive." 
The  chiffons  and  silver  began  to  shimmer  and 
quiver  again  in  testimony  and  Felicia  smiled  un- 
derstandingly.  But  even  as  she  smiled  she  felt  a 
sharp  little  pang  —  the  pang  of  chastened  maturity 
for  exuberant  youth.  A  vagrant  bit  of  verse 
flashed  through  her  mind. 

"  Pity  that  ever  the  jubilant  springs  should  fail  at  their 

flow 

And  that  youth  so  utterly  knowing  it  not  should  one  day 
know." 

Yes,  that  was  the  pity.  Here  was  Sylvia  Arden, 
glad,  and  young,  and  free,  smiling  into  the  future 
with  fearless  eyes,  challenging  experience.  Must 
she  too,  one  day  know?  At  any  rate,  the  hour  of 
too  much  knowing  was  as  yet  afar  off.  At  twenty- 
two  Sylvia  was  still  very  close  to  the  jubilant 
springs.  But  even  as  she  reached  this  comforting 
conclusion  Felicia  saw  the  girl's  eyes  grow  sober. 

"  Felicia,  sometimes  I  think  it's  a  dreadful  thing 
to  grow  up.  Life  is  so  fearfully  complex  some- 
how. All  sorts  of  questions  jump  out  and  '  Boo  ' 
at  you  from  behind  every  tree." 

"What  kind  of  questions?" 


38  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

11  Oh,  all  kinds !  "  Sylvia  dropped  down  on  the 
low  window  seat,  like  a  bird  suddenly  alighting,  and 
clasped  her  hands  around  her  knees  in  reckless  dis- 
regard of  her  billowing  chiffons.  "  I'm  a  little  af- 
flicted with  socialism  and  that  is  a  sad  disease  for 
a  person  who  has  as  much  money  as  I  have.  But 
that  isn't  all.  I  am  so  at  sea  about  so  many  things, 
and  there  are  so  many  strings  pulling  in  all  direc- 
tions. Suzanne  thinks  New  York  is  the  only  place 
in  the  world  to  really  live  in  and  she  wants  me 
to  come  and  live  with  her  and  study  or  do  some- 
thing. She  doesn't  think  it  matters  much  what, 
so  long  as  I  breathe  New  York,  and  Barb  is  nearly 
as  bad.  They  are  both  full  of  up-to-date  notions 
and  they  think  I'm  just  going  to  slip  behind  if  I 
stay  here  and  maybe  I  shall.  I  can  see  pretty  easily 
how  I  could.  Everybody  here  expects  me  to  do 
the  regular  coming  out  performance,  teas  and  din- 
ners and  balls  and  the  rest,  with  maybe  a  little  dis- 
creet charity  work  thrown  in,  and  possibly  a  paper 
on  art  or  ethics  for  the  literary  club.  You  know 
what  Greendale  is.  The  Gordons  want  me  to  go  to 
Japan  with  them  and  Hilda  wants  me  to  join  her 
in  Berlin,  or  did  before  the  war.  Goodness  knows 
where  she  is  now.  I  haven't  heard  since  July. 
And  —  well,  there  are  other  things." 


Twenty-Two  39 

Felicia  quite  understood  that  Jack  Amidon  might 
possibly  be  another  string  pulling  the  girl.  It  was 
no  secret  from  the  Hill,  and  certainly  not  from  the 
wise-eyed  "  Big  Sister,"  that  that  devoted,  persist- 
ent and  "  magerful "  young  man  had  every  inten- 
tion of  storming  Sylvia's  hill  top  and  carrying 
off  its  princess  if  such  a  feat  were  humanly  pos- 
sible. 

"  And  you  don't  want  to  do  any  of  these  things?  " 

Sylvia  smiled  dubiously. 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  little  of  me  wants  to  do  all  those 
things.  But  the  most  of  me  wants  to  stay  right 
here  at  Arden  Hall  and  do  nothing  particular.  I'd 
like  a  kind  of  year  o'  grace  I  think.  I  don't  seem  to 
have  any  especial  ambitions  nor  desires  except  to 
learn  to  live  as  broad  and  deep  and  quick  as  I  can." 
She  shifted  her  position  slightly  and  looked  out  into 
the  night  where  her  beloved  rose  garden  lay  in 
magical  moonlight  and  shadow  and  a  faint  sigh  es- 
caped her,  born  of  the  very  beauty,  poignant  almost 
as  pain,  so  quick  was  her  response  to  it.  Suddenly 
she  turned  back  and  her  eyes  smiled  at  Felicia. 

"Life's  funny,  isn't  it?"  she  said,  springing  up. 
"  Felicia,  what  ever  in  the  world  should  I  do  with- 
out you?"  She  eyed  a  little  sternly  the  bunch  of 
violets  Felicia  was  wearing,  a  fresh  bunch  which 


40  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

had  arrived  that  day.  "  Felicia,  Mr.  Kinnard 
isn't  —  you  aren't  —  ?  " 

Felicia  laughed. 

"  Your  observations  lack  a  certain  finished  co- 
herence but  I  assure  you  I  am  not,  nor  is  he  —  at 
least,  not  seriously." 

"  I'm  so  glad!  "  sighed  Sylvia.  "  I  know  I'm  a 
pig  but  I  should  simply  hate  Stephen  Kinnard  if  I 
thought  he  were  going  to  carry  you  off,  and  I 
should  hate  to  hate  him  he  is  so  exceedingly  nice.  I 
wish  he  could  have  stayed  for  the  party  to-night. 
Oh  me!  We  ought  to  be  downstairs  this  blessed 
minute.  Am  I  all  right,  Felicia?  You  never  did 
tell  me."  And  Sylvia  whirled  around  to  the  mir- 
ror for  a  last  critical  survey.  Felicia,  whose  eyes 
also  sought  the  reflected  figure  in  the  glass,  thought 
she  had  never  seen  the  girl  lovelier  than  she  was 
to-night  in  all  her  shimmering  bravery  of  white  and 
silver.  But  there  was  always  something  more  than 
mere  prettiness  about  Sylvia,  something  which 
seemed  to  shine  from  within  out.  She  was  so  ex- 
quisitely alive  like  the  fire  in  the  heart  of  an  opal 
or  a  jet  of  pure  flame. 

"  Aren't  you  coming,  Syl  ? "  Suzanne's  voice 
called  from  the  hall  as  she  knocked  and  entered 
almost  simultaneously,  followed  by  Barbara. 


Twenty-Two  41 

" '  The  feast  is  set, 
The  guests  are  met 

May'st  hear  the  merry  din.' " 

she  chanted  gayly,  looking  more  impishly  charming 
even  than  usual  in  her  beruffled  corn  yellow  taffeta, 
which  set  off  her  sparkling  brunette  beauty  to  per- 
fection. "  Do  come  down  quick  and  get  the  hand 
shaking  over  so  we  can  begin  to  dance.  It  is  a 
shame  to  waste  a  moment  of  that  heavenly  music. 
And  here's  Barb  just  dying  to  get  to  cracking  the 
hearts  of  the  Greendale  swains.  Look  at  her. 
Behold  my  handiwork.  She  even  let  me  apply 
the  faintest  soupc,on  of  Nature's  sweet  reenforcer, 
Madame  Delphine's  Parisian  Bloom.  Isn't  she 
adorable  ?  Barbie,  my  child,  revolve  for  the  ladies." 

"  Oh,  Suzanne !  "  The  roses  in  Barb's  cheeks 
needed  no  further  reen-forcement  at  the  moment. 
"  Do  please  rub  it  off.  It's  dreadful.  Does  it 
show,  Sylvia?  She  would  do  it." 

"  Nothing  shows  except  that  you're  the  cunning- 
est  mite  I  ever  laid  eyes  on,"  approved  Sylvia. 
"  Felicia,  do  look  at  her.  Doesn't  she  look  pre- 
cisely like  one  of  Marianna's  dolls?  In  that  dar- 
ling white  baby  dress  and  blue  sash  to  match  her 
eyes,  would  you  ever  suspect  her  of  being  a  Summa 
cum  Laude  and  a  frightfully  new  woman  ?  " 


42  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  You  all  look  new  enough  when  it  comes  to 
that,"  laughed  Felicia.  "  You  haven't  a  notion 
how  young  you  really  are.  Now,  shoo,  every  one 
of  you.  I'll  follow  as  soon  as  I  have  rounded  up 
Donald  and  Marianna." 

It  was  a  rather  heterogeneous  assembly  which 
met  at  the  Hall  that  night,  as  Sylvia's  parties  were 
apt  to  be.  The  guests  ranged  from  "  Grandpa 
Mclntosh,"  getting  to  be  rather  an  old  gentleman 
these  days  but  still  hale  and  a  little  crusty  as  be- 
came a  good  Scotchman,  down  to  little  Mary  Lane, 
the  youngest,  shyest  member  of  the  "  Hester 
house "  family  which  continued  to  hold  its  hos- 
pitable doors  open  to  those  who  needed  a  home 
"  with  some  one  to  care  "  as  Sylvia  had  stipulated 
from  the  beginning. 

Marianna,  still  fairy-like,  in  spite  of  her  eleven- 
year-old  dignity,  flitted  happily  among  the  guests 
feeling  delightfully  grown  up  and  important,  but 
Donald,  younger  and  shyer,  boyishly  conscious  of 
his  hands  and  feet,  slipped  into  unobtrusive  corners 
save  for  the  rare  moments  when  he  could  squeeze 
into  an  empty  space  beside  his  mother. 

Of  course  the  Hill  was  all  there,  Miss  Priscilla, 
and  Miss  Rosalie  and  Julietta  feasted  their  eyes 
delightedly  on  Sylvia,  telling  every  one  who  would 


Twenty-Two  43 

listen  what  a  very  picture  of  her  Aunt  Eleanor  Ar- 
den  the  child  was,  rapturously  reminiscent  of  other 
days  and  other  parties  when  they,  too,  like  Arden 
Hall  were  younger  than  at  present,  and  Doctor  Tom 
and  Lois  were  there  also,  rallying  each  other  on 
being  such  old  fogies  that  a  party  was  an  event  and 
the  new  dances  utterly  beyond  their  ken. 

"  Hester  house "  was  present  too  in  full  force, 
including  Mrs.  Lorrimer  and  all  the  family  of  girls 
who  had  the  luck  to  be  mothered  by  her  skillful 
hands  and  warm  heart.  All  kinds  of  girls  they 
were,  big  and  little,  pretty  and  plain,  stupid  and 
clever,  but  all  of  the  workaday  world  and  all  other- 
wise homeless,  united  by  one  common  bond,  a  warm 
adoration  for  Sylvia  through  whom  they  felt  them- 
selves linked  to  the  world  of  their  rosiest  dreams. 
Sylvia  would  no  more  have  omitted  them  from  her 
list  of  guests  on  this  birthday  celebration  than  she 
would  have  omitted  the  Byrds  or  Doctor  Tom.  To 
be  of  the  Hill  was  open  sesame  to  Sylvia's  favor, 
and  moreover  these  girls  were  every  one  of  them 
her  personal  friends  and  she  wanted  them  here  for 
their  own  sakes. 

Hope  and  Martha,  too,  had  come  up  from  the 
Oriole  Inn,  the  former  still  a  little  inarticulate  and 
somber  but  happily  having  lost  the  old-young, 


44  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

pinched  look  about  the  mouth  and  the  bitterness 
about  the  eyes  which  had  been  hers  that  night  in 
Sylvia's  garden  when  she  had  charged  the  owner 
so  sternly  with  possessing  "  Hundreds  of  roses 
when  Hope  hasn't  even  one ;  "  a  charge  which  Sylvia 
had  never  since  been  able  to  forget  for  long.  It 
was  to  her  a  symbol  of  the  mesh  of  inequality  and 
injustice  of  the  world  in  which  she  herself  was 
caught  and  struggled.  For  Sylvia  wanted  to  share 
her  roses.  She  always  had  wanted  to,  as  Martha 
had  long  since  learned.  Hope  was  even  sweeter 
and  lovelier  at  twenty  than  she  had  been  at  fifteen, 
still  a  little  frail  in  appearance  though  perfectly 
well.  This  summer  there  was  an  added  grace  about 
her,  a  sort  of  suppressed  joyousness,  a  glow  which 
transformed  her  rather  ethereal  charm  into  an  even 
more  appealing  human  guise.  During  the  sunny 
summer  days  past  when  Stephen  Kinnard  had  been 
using  her  as  the  incarnation  of  gardens,  Hope  her- 
self had  bloomed  from  a  shy  bud  of  a  rose  into  a 
half-blown  flower,  though  perhaps  only  Martha's 
keen,  devoted  eyes  saw  what  had  happened. 

Professor  Lane  and  his  wife,  Sylvia's  original 
"  Christmas  Mother,"  were  unfortunately  unable 
to  be  present,  though  they  sent  warm  greetings  and 
hearty  congratulations  from  the  Western  univer- 


Twenty-Two  45 

sity  to  which  the  professor  had  recently  been  called. 
With  them,  too,  was  Elizabeth,  also  of  the  original 
famous  family,  who  had  come  of  late  to  be  almost 
like  a  daughter  in  their  childless  home. 

Gus  Nichols  was  here,  however,  a  slim,  dark 
youth,  extremely  quiet,  though  not  in  the  least  awk- 
ward; unobtrusive,  grave,  giving  the  impression 
somehow  of  banked  fires  behind  those  solemn  dark 
eyes  of  his,  which  followed  Sylvia  Arden  wherever 
she  passed.  Though  Gus  was  thoroughly  Ameri- 
can in  dress  and  manner  and  articulation,  the  trail 
of  his  Italian  ancestry  was  upon  him.  Even  after 
all  these  years  he  looked  "  different,"  an  odd  con- 
trast to  the  grim  conservative  old  man,  Angus  Mc- 
Intosh,  whose  adopted  son  and  idol  he  was.  Gus 
had  been  studying  abroad  for  several  years,  had  in- 
deed just  returned  to  America,  ready  to  start  his 
career  on  the  concert  stage.  If  this  profession 
elected  by  the  boy  were  at  all  a  bitter  pill  for  the 
old  Scotchman  to  swallow  he  made  no  protest  about 
it  and  had  even  furthered  the  lad's  ambition.  Mr. 
Mclntosh  was  not  one  to  indulge  in  half-way 
measures  and  Sylvia  had  long  since  driven  home 
her  point  that  if  he  was  to  transform  Gus  Nichols, 
office  boy,  into  Augustus  Nichols,  his  adopted  son, 
he  had  no  right  to  change  the  currents  of  the  boy's 


46  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

being  in  the  process.  He  quite  understood  that 
if  Gus  "  had  to  play  the  music  that  was  in  him," 
he  had  to.  That  was  the  end  of  it.  Angus  Mc- 
Intosh  was  enough  of  a  predestinarian  to  perceive 
that.  At  any  rate,  Sylvia  and  her  Christmas  fam- 
ily had  inoculated  the  fast  hardening  old  man  with 
a  certain  infusion  of  human  tolerance  and  human 
understanding  and  he  had  all  the  reward  for  his 
kindness  that  he  desired  and  more  in  the  boy's  usu- 
ally silent  but  none  the  less  deep  gratitude  and  de- 
votion. 

Other  friends  there  were  of  Greendale  and  the 
near-by  city,  assembled  to  do  honor  to  the  young 
mistress  of  Arden  Hall  who  had  at  last  come  home 
to  take  her  place  among  them  no  longer  a  half- 
fledged  school  girl,  but  a  poised  and  very  lovely 
young  woman. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  be  marrying  her  off  next," 
observed  Mr.  Mclntosh  curtly,  with  bent  brows,  to 
Mrs.  Emory  who  chanced  to  be  standing  near  by 
as  Sylvia  sped  past  in  Jack  Amidon's  arms. 

"  Not  I,"  smiled  Felicia.  "  I  should  be  sorry 
to  have  her  marry  for  a  year  or  so  yet.  One  is 
young  such  a  very  short  time  in  this  world  at  best. 
I  should  like  to  keep  her  just  as  she  is  for  awhile 
if  I  could." 


Twenty-Two  47 

"  You'll  have  some  trouble  doing  it  unless  you 
muzzle  that  young  man,  I'm  thinking."  The 
speaker  frowned  thought  fully  at  Jack  Amidon's  back. 
"  I  suppose  that  is  what  most  people  would  call  a 
suitable  match,  eh  ?  "  he  wheeled  on  Felicia  to  ask. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  admitted  Felicia. 

"  H-mp !  "  snorted  her  companion.  "  Most  peo- 
ple are  fools." 

Whether  fools  or  not  there  were  plenty  of  peo- 
ple to  note  with  interest,  pleasure  or  alarm,  ac- 
cording to  their  several  viewpoints,  when  as  the 
music  ceased  Sylvia  stepped  through  the  French 
window  into  the  balcony  beyond,  followed  by  Jack 
Amidon.  Perhaps  more  than  one  guest  would  have 
echoed  Suzanne's  verdict  that  Sylvia  was  spoiled 
indeed  if  Jack  Amidon  were  not  good  enough  for 
her;  handsome,  debonair,  thoroughly  charming  as 
he  was.  Health,  wealth,  good  looks  and  good  old 
family  on  both  sides.  What  more  could  be  de- 
sired? Who  but  a  canny  old  Scotchman  would 
have  "  H-mped  "  in  the  face  of  such  a  very  obvi- 
ously appropriate  combination?  Yet  Sylvia  herself 
was  still  to  be  reckoned  with ;  Sylvia  who  wore  her 
heart  on  her  sleeve  as  little  now  as  in  the  old  St. 
Anne  days,  Sylvia,  who  wanted  to  learn  to  live  as 
broad  and  deep  and  quick  as  she  could. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    WAYS     OF    A     MAID 

"  You  look  mighty  sweet  and  cool  and  moon- 
shiny!" 

Jack  stooped  to  draw  Sylvia's  scarf  about  her 
bare  shoulders  with  the  protecting  chivalrous  touch 
which  was  characteristic  of  him.  His  ancestors 
had  been  cavaliers  and  none  of  them  all  knew  bet- 
ter than  he  the  art  of  little,  tender,  intimate,  endear- 
ing ways  which  women  —  even  new  women  —  love. 
The  ardently  adoring  expression  in  his  eyes  was 
also  characteristic.  Jack  Amidon's  eyes  were  ac- 
customed to  looking  adoring.  He  could  no  more 
help  making  love  to  a  pretty  girl  than  he  could  have 
been  rude  to  an  ugly  one.  It  was  constitutional. 
To  do  him  justice,  however,  this  time  the  adora- 
tion came  from  rather  deep.  There  had  been  girls 
and  girls  in  his  life  but  never  but  one  Sylvia. 

"  Ah,  but  it's  good  to  have  you  home  for  good 

and  all."     And  he  let  his  hands  rest  for  a  moment 

48 


The  Ways  of  a  Moid  49 

on  her  shoulders  as  he  spoke  and  permitted  the 
ardentness  of  his  eyes  to  deepen. 

But  Sylvia  slipped  away  from  his  hands  and  his 
too  eloquent  gaze.  She  turned  to  rest  her  hands 
on  the  railing  and  look  down  at  the  fountain  which 
flashed  and  gurgled  pleasantly  below  in  the  moon- 
light. Perhaps  she  knew  that  all  the  summer  day 
playing  had  been  leading  up  to  this  night,  that  a 
serious  question  was  likely  to  "  Boo  "  at  her  at  any 
minute  unless  she  could  keep  it  at  a  safe  distance, 
which  as  Jack's  eyes  just  now  betrayed  was  not  go- 
ing to  be  so  easy. 

"  I  am  not  sure  I  am  home  —  for  good  and  all," 
she  said,  still  with  her  eyes  on  the  fountain.  "  I 
have  to  find  something  to  do.  Just  being  '  out ' 
isn't  going  to  satisfy  me.  I  have  to  be  in  some- 
thing or  rather.  I  am  looking  for  a  Cause,"  she 
turned  back  to  him  with  a  smile  to  add. 

Jack  dropped  on  the  railing  by  her  side  and 
bent  his  handsome  head  until  it  was  very  near  the 
girl's. 

"  Won't  I  do  —  for  a  Cause  ?  "  he  asked,  uncon- 
sciously echoing  Suzanne. 

Sylvia  smiled. 

"  Scarcely.  I  am  afraid  you  are  more  like  an 
effect." 


50  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"An  effect!" 

"  You  are  a  fearful  example  of  what  I  don't  want 
to  be  and  what  I  am  bound  to  be  if  I  don't  watch 
out." 

"What?" 

Sylvia  paused  for  a  word,  then,  "  A  derelict," 
she  pronounced. 

Jack's  head  went  up  quickly,  his  self-complacency 
shattered  for  the  moment.  Sylvia's  word  had 
stung. 

"  Do  I  honestly  remind  you  of  anything  so  — 
dilapidated,  not  to  say  rotten  ?  "  he  asked. 

Sylvia  caught  the  hurt  sound  in  his  voice  and 
looked  up,  taking  in  at  a  glance  his  wholesome, 
young  vigor,  his  essential  cleanness  and  fineness. 
Excellent  things  these  in  themselves  as  the  girl 
knew,  though  she  asked  for  more. 

"  No,"  she  admitted.  "  It  wasn't  a  good  figure 
after  all.  You  are  more  like  a  freshly  rigged,  beau- 
tifully appointed  yacht,  without  a  rudder  or  a  pilot, 
going  nowhere  —  anywhere." 

Jack  settled  back  on  the  railing  with  a  shrug. 

"  Same  old  Sylvia !  You  always  did  hit  straight 
from  the  shoulder.  What  do  you  want  me  to  do? 
There  is  more  money  in  the  family  now  than  is 
good  for  us.  What's  the  infernal  use  of  my  scrap- 


The  Ways  of  a  Maid  51 

ping  and  scrambling  for  more?  I'm  a  nincompoop 
at  the  business  anyway." 

"  Then  for  goodness'  sake  find  one  you  aren't  a 
nincompoop  at,"  retorted  Sylvia. 

"  Easier  said  than  done,  young  woman." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  relented  his  mentor.  "  I  haven't 
any  right  to  preach  till  I  find  my  own  job." 

"You!  Girls  don't  need  a  job.  Their  job  is 
to  look  pretty  and  get  married." 

Sylvia  frowned  at  that. 

"  Heretic !  That's  not  twentieth-century  lingo. 
You  are  positively  mediaeval.  I  shall  set  Barb  on 
you." 

Jack  smiled. 

"  Barb  knows  it's  true  just  as  well  as  I  do  for 
all  her  theories.  She  would  marry  the  right  man 
in  a  minute  if  he  turned  up  and  forget  the  suffrage 
stuff.  She's  by  all  odds  the  most  domestic  of  the 
three  of  you." 

Sylvia  looked  thoughtful.  She  remembered 
Barb's  opinion  about  the  "  loveliness "  of  having 
babies  and  wondered.  For  all  his  inconsequence 
Jack  had  a  somewhat  startling  habit  at  times  of 
getting  beneath  the  surface  of  things.  She  sus- 
pected he  had  hit  upon  a  truth  now  but  would  not 
give  him  the  satisfaction  of  acknowledging  the  fact. 


52  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

Therefore  she  said  nothing,  and  her  silence  gave 
her  companion  the  opening  he  had  been  waiting 
for.  He  had  not  brought  Sylvia  out  in  the  moon- 
light to  talk  "  twentieth-century  lingo." 

"  You  didn't  wear  my  orchids,"  he  observed  ir- 
relevantly, at  least  irrelevantly  to  everything  ex- 
cept his  ardent  eyes.  From  the  beginning  his  eyes 
had  been  talking  a  language  older  than  that  of 
feminism. 

"  I  didn't  wear  anybody's  flowers.  I  had  too 
many." 

"And  I  am  not  different  from  just  anybody?" 
There  was  a  caressing,  proprietary  note  in  his  voice. 
"  Sylvia,  sweetheart,  you  know  I  am." 

Sylvia  faced  him  and  the  issue  then,  aware  that 
she  could  fend  no  longer. 

"Of  course  you  are  different,  Jack.  I've  known 
you  so  much  longer  than  the  rest,  but  —  I  am  afraid 
you  are  not  different  in  the  way  you  want  me  to 
say  it.  Please,  Jack,  don't  spoil  what  we  have  by 
asking  too  much."  Impulsively  she  put  out  her 
hand  and  let  it  rest  on  his.  "  Can't  we  keep  on  be- 
ing—  just  friends?"  She  pleaded  after  the  im- 
memorial fashion  of  woman. 

"  I'm  afraid  not.  You  see,  I  don't  want  to  be 
just  friends.  I  want  a  whole  lot  more  as  it  hap- 


The  Ways  of  a  Maid  53 

pens.  I  know  I'm  not  much  good,  but  I  could  be 
with  you  at  the  helm.  You  could  do  anything  with 
me.  You  always  could.  Oh,  Sylvia,  wouldn't  you 
try  it?  Couldn't  you?"  He  stooped  and  lifted 
her  hand  to  his  lips.  "  Sylvia,  isn't  there  any 
hope?"  he  implored,  all  his  boy's  heart  in  his 
eyes. 

Sylvia  couldn't  help  being  stirred  deeply.  When 
one  is  loved  it  is  not  so  hard  to  believe  one  loves  in 
return  and  the  call  of  youth  and  life  is  strong. 
But  for  both  their  sakes  she  steadied  herself  know- 
ing the  time  was  not  ripe  for  yielding,  if,  indeed, 
it  ever  would  be.  This  was  one  of  the  things  among 
others  that  she  was  at  sea  about.  She  was  not  yet 
sure  she  knew  herself,  as  she  had  told  her  friends. 

"I  am  afraid  there  isn't  —  much,"  she  said 
gently,  apropos  of  his  word  hope. 

His  hand  clinched. 

"  Sylvia,  is  there  any  one  else?  " 

She  shook  her  head  hastily,  but  her  eyes  fell  be- 
neath his  penetrating  gaze. 

"It  isn't  — Sylvia,  it  isn't  Phil?" 

Sylvia's  head  went  up  and  there  was  a  flash  in 
her  brown  eyes,  a  deeper  flush  on  her  cheeks. 

"  It  is  nobody.  Jack,  you  haven't  any  right  to 
ask  that,"  she  rebuked  him  hotly. 


54  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Sorry,"  he  apologized.  "  Consider  it  un- 
asked." "  So  it  is  old  Phil,"  he  thought. 

"  I  don't  want  to  marry  anybody  —  not  for  a 
long,  long  time,"  Sylvia  went  on  swiftly.  "  Any- 
way, I  couldn't  marry  anybody  who  was  just  a  boy. 
I've  got  to  marry  a  man."  In  her  confusion  Sylvia 
hit  hard  again;  harder  perhaps  than  she  really 
meant. 

Jack  rose  and  made  one  or  two  quick  turns  up 
and  down  the  balcony.  Then  he  came  to  a  halt 
before  Sylvia. 

"  Maybe  I  deserve  that,"  he  said  soberly.  "  No 
doubt  I  do.  See  here,  Sylvia,  if  I  can  show  you 
I  am  a  man,  will  it  help  any  ?  " 

Sylvia  hesitated.  It  would  help  a  great  deal  and 
she  knew  it.  And  yet  could  she  promise  anything 
while  she  was  still  so  uncertain  of  herself?  Had 
she  any  right  to  hold  out  any  hope  ? 

"  Sweetheart,  wouldn't  there  be  any  chance  for 
me?*'  he  pleaded. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Sylvia  honestly.  "  I'm 
sorry,  Jack.  I'm  all  in  a  muddle  myself.  I  do  care 
a  lot.  How  could  I  help  it?  You  are  always  so 
dear  and  nice  to  me,  and  you  are  so  twisted  up  with 
so  many  of  the  happiest  times  I've  ever  had  I 
couldn't  help  caring.  But  it  isn't  enough  at  pres- 


The  Ways  of  a  Moid  55 

ent,  and  I  am  not  at  all  sure  it  ever  could  be  enough 
of  the  right  kind.  We  are  awfully  good  playmates, 
but  there  is  more  ahead  for  both  of  us  than  play.  At 
least  I  hope  there  is.  Anyway,  I  don't  want  to  be- 
long to  anybody  but  myself  for  awhile." 

"  I'll  wait.  I'll  work  like  the  devil.  I'll  do  any- 
thing if  you'll  only  say  there  is  the  slightest  shadow 
of  a  chance." 

Sylvia  couldn't  help  smiling  at  the  boyishness  of 
his  protestations,  earnest  as  they  were  and  touch- 
ing in  their  unwonted  humility.  She  shook  her 
head. 

"  That  is  all  there  is  —  just  a  shadow  of  a  chance. 
I'm  sorry  it  isn't  more.  Truly  I  am.  And  don't 
—  please,  don't  —  hope  too  much,"  she  begged. 

"  I'll  hope  all  there  is,"  he  retorted  grimly. 

"  Well,  here  you  are !  My  word !  Your  part- 
ners are  tearing  their  hair  and  rushing  round  like 
mad  dogs.  Pretty  way  for  a  hostess  to  behave, 
vanishing  like  the  original  Cheshire  puss !  Amidon, 
your  life  isn't  worth  a  nickle  if  you  go  in  there." 
Thus  challenged  a  blond  young  medical  student 
from  the  near-by  University  suddenly  appearing  in 
the  window,  blithely  unconscious  that  he  had  in- 
terrupted anything  more  than  a  moonlight  inter- 
lude. 


56  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Then  I'll  stay  out,"  announced  Jack  coolly  as 
Sylvia  rose  with  apologies  and  followed  her  captor. 

Left  alone,  Jack  lit  a  cigarette  and  strode  to  and 
fro  in  the  little  balcony  thinking  as  hard  as  per- 
haps he  had  ever  thought  in  his  twenty-six  rather 
heedless  happy-go-lucky  years.  If  ever  a  man 
takes  square  account  of  himself  it  is  at  the  moment 
when  he  desires  with  all  his  heart  and  soul  to  win 
a  woman.  As  young  men  go,  Jack  Amidon  was  as 
clean  and  fine  as  most,  considerably  more  so  than 
might  have  been  expected,  in  fact,  considering  his 
easy-going  temperament  and  unlimited  income. 
But  being  merely  negatively  decent  was  not  enough 
to  offer  Sylvia  Arden.  Not  even  shrewd  old  Angus 
Mclntosh  knew  that  better  than  Jack  himself. 

"  Man  indeed !  "  he  muttered  in  the  course  of  his 
march.  "  I  suppose  if  I  had  studied  like  sin  and 
turned  into  a  saw  bones  like  old  Phil  she  would 
have  had  some  use  for  me."  The  thought  of  Phil 
Lorrimer  sent  his  thoughts  on  a  different  tangent. 
For  with  that  uncanny  perceptive  power  which 
Sylvia  herself  granted  him  he  knew  far  better  than 
Sylvia  knew  that  if  it  had  been  Phil  instead  of  him- 
self who  had  been  besieging  the  Princess  of  the 
hill  top  that  evening  for  the  boon  of  her  hand  and 
heart  a  different  answer  might  have  been  forth- 


The  Ways  of  a  Maid  57 

coming.  Phil,  at  least,  fulfilled  the  initial  require- 
ment. He  was  a  man,  every  inch  of  him.  Jack 
vouchsafed  him  that  just  as  he  had  admitted  the 
other  lad  deserved  Sylvia's  favor  even  at  his  own 
expense  back  in  the  days  of  the  Christmas  family. 

It  was  odd  how  history  repeated  itself.  Just  as 
in  that  old  time,  Sylvia  had  set  himself  a  task  to 
"  mend  his  fences "  as  she  had  whimsically  ex- 
pressed it,  so  she  was  again  bidding  him  gird  on 
his  armor  if  he  would  win  her  respect  without 
which  her  love  was  an  impossibility.  As  if  it  were 
yesterday  Jack  remembered  that  night  among  the 
snow-laden  pines,  out  under  the  stars,  when  Sylvia 
had  gravely  and  simply  without  any  preaching,  Syl- 
via fashion,  turned  him  aside  from  paths  already 
beginning  to  be  dangerous  to  safer,  cleaner  ways. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  it  had  always  been  Sylvia  who 
had  pointed  him  starward,  Sylvia  only  who  be- 
lieved in  him  enough  to  swear  him  into  knighthood. 
Now  that  they  were  no  longer  boy  and  girl  it  was 
the  prize  of  her  love  which  would  send  him  into 
the  fray.  Already  he  had  experienced  his  accolade. 

"Poor  old  Lorry!"  he  thought.  "Why  didn't 
he  cut  his  blooming  operations  and  come  down 
here  and  speak  for  himself  to-night?  Thank  the 
Lord  he  didn't  though  or  yours  truly  would  be 


58  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

ditched  and  done  for.  I  never  had  a  show  with 
Lorry  in  the  foreground.  Well,  here's  to  the 
breach.  Sylvia  will  never  forgive  me  if  I  omit  to 
dance  with  one  of  her  precious  orphans." 

So  it  happened  that  a  few  moments  later  shy 
little  Mary  Lane  watching  the  dancers  with  long- 
ing eyes  from  a  corner  caught  her  breath  with  as- 
tonishment and  delight  as  Jack  Amidon  stood  be- 
fore her,  his  eyes  smiling  encouragement  and 
friendliness,  his  lips  begging  the  boon  of  a  dance 
quite  as  earnestly  as  if  she  had  been  one  of  the 
belles  of  the  ball.  So  it  happened  also  that  Sylvia, 
being  whirled  past  the  two,  smiled  happy  grati- 
tude at  Jack  over  her  partner's  shoulder,  and  he 
knew  that  his  careless  kindness  to  her  little  guest 
had  scored  him  a  high  mark  in  her  favor. 

"  Jack  is  such  a  dear,"  thought  Sylvia.  "  He 
is  a  real  knight.  I  wonder  if  I  am  all  wrong  to 
try  to  turn  him  into  a  plain  workaday  person.  He 
is  so  thoroughly  delightful  as  he  is.  When  men 
get  too  much  absorbed  in  their  work  you  can't 
count  on  them  for  the  little  things,  and,  after  all, 
the  little  things  mean  a  whole  lot." 

Possibly  this  sage  conclusion  had  some  vague 
connection  with  the  fact  that  a  certain  very  much 
"  absorbed  in  work  "  young  doctor  way  off  in  a 


The  Ways  of  a  Maid  59 

distant  city  had  permitted  Sylvia's  birthday  to  come 
and  almost  go  with  no  word  or  sign.  If  so  cer- 
tainly Sylvia  would  have  been  the  last  to  admit  the 
connection  even  to  herself. 

"  Please,  Miss  Sylvia,  there's  some  one  down- 
stairs in  the  hall  asking  for  you,"  whispered  a  maid 
in  Sylvia's  ears  as  her  partner  brought  her  to  a 
chair.  "  He  didn't  give  any  name." 

Sylvia  excused  herself  and  slipped  away  won- 
dering as  to  the  identity  of  her  late  arriving  guest. 
At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  was  an  extraordinarily 
tall,  blond  young  man,  with  the  bluest  and  friendliest 
of  eyes  and  the  biggest,  most  crushing  hand  grip  in 
the  world. 

"  Why,  Phil !  "  gasped  Sylvia.  "  I  had  no  idea 
you  could  come."  This  as  soon  as  she  was  able  to 
regain  her  wits  and  the  possession  of  her  hands. 

"  Nor  I.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  couldn't.  I 
just  did,"  grinned  Phil  Lorrimer,  cheerfully. 
"  Here  I  am,  B.  and  O.  grime  and  all.  May  I  come 
to  the  party  just  as  I  am  without  one  plea?  " 

"  You  surely  may.  I'm  so  glad."  And  Sylvia's 
face  corroborated  her  words. 

"  Here's  a  nosegay  for  you,"  and  Phil's  fingers 
fumbled  with  the  string  on  the  box  he  had  de- 
posited in  a  convenient  chair  while  he  had  used 


60  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

both  hands  greeting  Sylvia.  In  a  moment  a  charm- 
ing bouquet  of  cream  yellow  roses,  shell  pink  at 
the  heart,  was  disclosed. 

"  How  lovely ! "  Sylvia  buried  her  face  in  the 
nosegay.  "  I  just  have  to  wear  them.  Oh,  dear, 
I  haven't  a  pin." 

"  Here  you  are ! "  And  the  young  doctor 
solemnly  produced  the  needful  article. 

"  Trust  you !  "  laughed  Sylvia.  "  There,  aren't 
they  perfect?  Come  on,  quick.  Let's  not  waste 
the  music." 

"Ditto  my  sentiments.     Is  this  my  dance?" 

"  It's  Doctor  Tom's,  but  he  won't  care.     Hurry." 

And  in  a  moment  the  onlookers  had  something 
new  to  think  of  as  Sylvia's  white  and  silverness 
flashed  back  into  the  ballroom  with  a  tall  figure  in 
plain  traveling  clothes  by  her  side. 

"  Another  country  heard  from,"  grunted  Angus 
Mclntosh  as  he  watched  the  two  swing  into  step. 

Perhaps  in  the  whole  room  there  was  no  one 
who  had  more  cause  for  a  sudden  reaction  of  feel- 
ing than  Jack  Amidon,  whose  quick  eye  took  in 
even  at  the  length  of  the  hall  that  Sylvia  was  at 
last  wearing  somebody's  flowers.  But  it  was  with 
apparent  nonchalance  and  entire  good  will  that  he 
came  to  offer  Phil  Lorrimer  a  cordial  greeting  a 


The  Ways  of  a  Maid  61 

few  moments  later,  though  even  as  he  chatted  with 
the  other  young  man  it  did  not  escape  him  that 
there  was  an  added  radiance  to  Sylvia's  "  moon- 
shininess,"  as  if  she  had  tasted  some  magic  draught 
of  youth  and  joy  during  those  few  moments  in 
which  she  had  been  out  of  the  room.  As  has  been 
observed,  Jack  Amidon  was  a  rather  unexpectedly 
perspicuous  person  at  times. 


CHAPTER  V 

SEPTEMBER   AFTERNOON 

"  OH,  me !  Just  think !  By  to-morrow  after- 
noon at  this  time  we'll  all  be  scattered  to  the  four 
winds,"  sighed  Barbara.  "  Don't  you  hate  to  have 
things  get  different  ?  " 

"  Can't  say  I  do.  The  differenter  the  better  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned  as  I  have  hitherto  remarked," 
put  in  Suzanne.  "  I  hate  staying  still,  physically, 
mentally,  or  morally.  I'm  ready  for  new  pricks 
every  minute.  I  feel  like  saying  to  life  every  morn- 
ing '  Come  on.  Do  your  worst.  I'm  ready.  Give 
me  anything  —  everything  —  except  stagnation.' ' 

"  You  don't  look  as  if  you  were  going  to  stagnate 
just  this  minute,"  laughed  Sylvia,  surveying  her 
friend,  who,  indeed,  from  the  tip  of  her  impa- 
tiently tapping  shoe  to  the  crown  of  her  rebellious 
blue-black,  wavy  hair,  appeared  sufficiently  dynamic 
for  any  purpose. 

"  I  don't  intend  to.  That  is  why  I  am  trans- 
ferring my  spiritual  and  bodily  allegiance  from  Nor- 

62 


September  Afternoon  63 

ton,  Pa.,  to  New  York  City.  I'd  rather  live  on  a 
crust  in  that  blessed  city  of  enchantment  than  fare 
on  nectar  and  ambrosia  elsewhere.  I  wish  you 
would  change  your  mind  and  come  along,  Sylvia. 
I  know  you  are  going  to  be  discontented  here  or 
even  contented,  which  is  worse.  Arden  Hall  is  a 
perfect  dream  of  a  place,  and  I've  loved  every 
minute  of  this  week  with  you,  but  it  would  swamp 
me  with  its  placidity  if  I  settled  down  in  it,  and 
that's  the  truth." 

"  Oh,  Suzanne !  "  Thus  Barb,  always  sensitive 
to  the  possibility  that  some  one's  feelings  might  be 
going  to  be  hurt. 

"  Don't  mind  her,  Barb.  I  know  what  she 
means  precisely,  and  it  is  all  more  or  less  true. 
Arden  Hall  is  placid  and  remote.  I  have  to  find  a 
way  to  link  it  somehow  with  big  moving  things  out- 
side —  below  —  or  the  very  thing  Suzanne  threat- 
ens me  with  will  happen." 

"  You'll  find  a  way,"  prophesied  Barb  earnestly. 

"  Of  course  she'll  find  it,"  seconded  Suzanne. 
"If  there  is  anybody  on  this  green  earth  capable 
of  squeezing  the  traditional  camel  through  the 
needle's  eye  it  is  the  young  person  I  see  before  me. 
Isn't  it  time  our  cavaliers  arrived?  I  begin  to  pine 
for  action  already." 


64  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Jack  said  he  would  be  here  at  four  sharp.  We 
are  going  to  take  you  to  the  most  heavenly  spot, 
right  over  the  river  with  the  whole  Ridge  for  a 
background.  Some  day  when  you  are  being  com- 
pressed to  a  wafer  in  the  Subway  in  your  precious 
old  city  you  will  remember  it  and  be  willing  to 
give  your  second-most-becoming  hat  for  a  magic 
carpet  to  take  you  back." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  murmured  Barb.  "  I  be- 
lieve Suzanne  would  rather  hear  the  roar  of  the  El 
than  the  wind  in  the  pines  though.  She  is  the  most 
urban  person  I  ever  knew." 

Suzanne  laughed  at  this  arraignment. 

"  It  isn't  the  music  of  the  El,  per  se  that  I  de- 
light in.  That's  nearer  like  the  thing  it  rhymes 
with.  But  it's  a  symbol.  It  means  hurrying 
human  beings,  the  rush  and  stir  of  things.  I  love 
crowds." 

"And  I  detest  them,"  groaned  Barb.  "I'm 
afraid  of  New  York  in  spite  of  all  its  wonderful- 
ness.  It  is  so  big  and  hard  and  impersonal.  If  it 
weren't  for  being  with  Aunt  Jo  I  know  it  would 
scare  me  to  bits  to  live  there." 

!<  You  poor  babe !  "  Sylvia  smiled  sympathetically 
at  the  speaker.  "  It  is  unthinkable  that  a  little 
shrinking  infant  like  you  should  be  dedicated  to  a 


September  Afternoon  65 

great  screaming  cause.  You  ought  to  live  in  a 
cozy  cottage,  in  a  friendly  little  village,  where 
everybody  knows  everybody  and  grow  pan- 
sies." 

"  And  babies,"  added  Suzanne,  an  addition  which 
brought  a  quick  flush  to  Barb's  cheeks  and  made 
her  put  out  her  hand  with  a  deprecating  gesture. 
"  You'll  never  be  able  to  stand  the  pace.  Better 
wire  your  Aunt  Josephine  you  have  decided  to  bury 
the  mantle." 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  what  do  you  two  think  I 
am?  I  guess  I  don't  have  to  be  packed  away  in 
rose  petals  and  pink  cotton."  There  was  a  strain 
of  indignation  in  Barb's  voice.  "  I  don't  belong 
in  the  sheltered  woman  class,  and  I  wouldn't  stay 
in  it  if  I  did.  How  long  do  you  suppose  I'd  have 
any  peace  in  my  cozy  cottage,  in  my  friendly  little 
village,  remembering  all  the  other  women  who  don't 
live  in  cozy  friendly  places  but  have  to  work  in 
horrid,  noisy,  sweaty  factories  or  worse?  What 
pleasure  would  I  get  out  of  my  pansies  —  and  babies 
—  so  long  as  I  knew  there  was  a  child  in  the  world 
who  wasn't  free  to  chase  butterflies  in  the  sun- 
shine? You  two  think  I  am  just  playing  at  this 
woman  game.  I'm  not.  Sylvia  can  act  Lady 
Bountiful  from  the  top  of  her  Hill  and  you  can 


66  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

write  about  woman,  Suzanne,  but  I'm  going  to 
fight  for  her,  so  there !  " 

"  Bravo !  I  stand  reproved  and  beg  a  thousand 
pardons.  You're  a  trump,  Barbie.  You  are  right, 
too.  Sylvia  and  I  are  likely  to  play  with  this  thing 
called  Feminism,  but  you'll  fight  for  it  to  the  last 
trench  like  the  wee  bit  heroine  you  are.  Oh,  there's 
Mr.  Amidon's  car.  There  is  Mr.  Amidon  and  Dr. 
Lorrimer  and  —  Sylvia,  who  is  the  third  man  ?  " 

"If  my  eyes  do  not  deceive  me  the  third  man 
is  Roger  Minot.  Did  you  know  he  was  immi- 
nent?" 

"  I  did  not.  Moreover,  I  am  extremely  displeased 
with  him  for  appearing,"  frowned  Suzanne.  "  I 
told  him  distinctly  I  didn't  want  to  see  him  again 
unless  I  sent  for  him." 

"  Well,  you  will  have  to  look  the  other  way 
then,"  observed  Sylvia.  "  He  is  in  plain  sight." 

So  indeed  it  proved,  for  three  minutes  later, 
Roger  Minot,  a  tall  young  man  with  hazel  eyes  and 
a  firm  chin,  was  shaking  hands  with  the  assembled 
group  and  explaining  with  considerable  explicitness 
that  he  had  happened  to  be  in  Baltimore  on  busi- 
ness and  had  also  happened  to  call  up  Jack  Amidon 
by  telephone,  who,  in  turn,  had  happened  to  be 
taking  Sylvia  and  her  guests  on  an  excursion  and 


September  Afternoon  67 

had  been  kind  enough  to  include  himself  in  the  in- 
vitation. 

At  all  of  which  elaborate  eloquence  Suzanne  had 
shrugged  her  displeasure  and  pointedly  turned  her 
back  on  the  young  barrister  and  devoted  herself  to 
the  doctor.  So  much  "  happening  "  in  the  face  of 
her  expressed  command  deserved  punishment  and 
Suzanne  was  a  firm  disciplinarian  where  her  lovers 
were  concerned,  especially  the  unfortunate  Roger. 

"  Sylvia,  you  will  have  to  sit  with  me  to  show  me 
the  way,"  ordered  Jack  in  his  usual  "  magerful  " 
way,  taking  things  into  his  own  hands.  "  All 
aboard,  everybody?  Sure  Madame  Felicia  won't 
go?"  He  turned  to  Sylvia  to  inquire. 

"  No,  she  said  not.  Felicia  is  not  exceedingly 
devoted  to  picnics,  and  I  suspect  she  has  had  more 
than  enough  of  them  this  summer.  Ready  ?  "  Syl- 
via turned  back  to  her  guests  to  ask  and  in  a  mo- 
ment they  were  off  down  the  hill. 

The  rich,  vivid-hued  Maryland  fields  and  mead- 
ows lay  indeed,  "  fair  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord  " 
as  the  car  sped  out  of  Greendale  beyond  to  the  open 
country,  along  the  smooth,  hard,  white  pike.  The 
afternoon  shadows  fell  cool  and  long,  and  already 
there  was  a  faint  autumnal  hint  of  crispness  in  the 
air  and  a  mellow,  misty  gold  to  the  sunshine.  The 


68  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

mountains  were  outlined,  palely  blue,  against  the 
deeper  azure  of  the  cloudless  September  skies. 
Here  and  there  a  buzzard  sailed  and  dipped  above 
some  wooded  slope  or  a  blue  jay  screamed  and 
flashed  out  of  an  oak  thicket. 

Amidst  the  chatter  of  the  rest  Barbara  fell  silent 
and  gave  herself  blissfully  to  the  serene  beauty  of 
the  outdoor  world  so  utterly  remote  from  that  other 
world  of  din  and  traffic,  of  strenuous  toil  and  keen 
competition  in  which  she  was  to  merge  her  own  ex- 
istence on  the  morrow.  She  was  profoundly  grate- 
ful for  this  last  opportunity  to  feel  the  benign  pres- 
ence of  Nature  in  field  and  sky  and  mountain.  Her 
quick  eye  took  in  every  patch  of  purple  aster 
bloom,  every  scarlet  glory  of  sumach  and  warm 
bronze  hue  of  oaks.  Even  the  corn  shocks  spread- 
ing their  brown  skirts  as  if  indulging  in  some  quaint 
minuet  stamped  themselves  upon  her  inner  vision 
to  be  remembered  long  after.  She  did  not  wish 
to  talk,  scarcely  even  to  think.  She  desired  only 
to  feel  —  to  let  the  benediction  of  the  jewel-tinted 
day  possess  her  spirit. 

Suzanne,  less  susceptible  to  the  mood  of  tran- 
quillity, was  bubbling  over  with  gayety,  her  atten- 
tion centering  chiefly  on  Phil  Lorrimer  sitting  in 
the  seat  opposite  her.  She  chose  to  ignore  Roger 


September  Afternoon  69 

Minot's  steady  hazel  eyes.  He  need  not  think  his 
coming  made  any  difference  to  her.  Whether  he 
came  or  went  was  a  matter  of  supreme  indifference. 
He  might  just  as  well  have  stayed  in  his  grim 
little,  trim  little,  office  in  Norton,  Pa.,  as  to  have 
pursued  a  will-o'-the-wisp  to  Arden  Hall  so  far  as 
Suzanne  was  concerned.  Some  women  were  made 
unhappy  by  men.  Suzanne  had  a  cousin  to  whom 
this  had  befallen  and  had  long  since  determined 
none  should  have  power  to  hurt  her.  She  meant 
to  guard  well  the  citadel  which  was  Suzanne  Morri- 
son. If  there  were  any  casualties  in  the  attempt 
to  scale  the  walls  the  responsibility  would  not  be 
on  her  head.  Let  men  look  to  themselves.  Su- 
zanne had  small  compassion.  Though  she  thor- 
oughly enjoyed  the  stimulus  of  the  society  of  the 
other  sex  and  dearly  loved  to  clash  swords  with 
them  she  wished  nothing  at  their  hands.  She  meant 
to  show  the  world  that  a  woman  could  stand  alone, 
strive  and  conquer  alone,  fail  if  need  be,  alone, 
sufficient  unto  herself  unto  the  end.  There  should 
be  no  doll's  house  for  her,  no  more  confining  limits 
than  life  itself,  wide  as  ether  and  deep  as  the  sea, 
for  her  abiding  place. 

On  the  driver's  seat  were  Jack  and  Sylvia,  the 
latter  a  little   silent.     Though   she  had  made  no 


70  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

protest  against  her  companion's  rather  high-handed 
disposition  of  herself  it  had  not  wholly  pleased 
Sylvia.  For  one  thing,  she  thought  it  assumed  too 
much  on  the  basis  of  that  half  promise  of  last 
night.  She  did  not  desire  that  Phil  or  indeed  any 
of  the  party  should  infer  that  she  and  Jack  must 
necessarily  pair  off  like  a  couple  of  Noah's  ark 
animals;  moreover  she  considered  it  extremely 
thoughtless,  not  to  say  selfish,  of  Jack  to  leave  Phil 
to  the  society  of  a  group  of  almost  strangers  when 
his  time  in  Greendale  was  so  limited;  for  Phil  was 
taking  the  midnight  train  back  to  New  York  hav- 
ing allowed  himself  little  more  than  twenty-four 
hours  for  a  holiday. 

"  Too  bad  everybody  has  to  go  away/*  Jack  was 
saying.  "  May  I  come  over  often  and  help  cheer 
your  lonely  hours  ?  "  His  voice  was  lowered  and 
his  head  bent  toward  Sylvia  in  an  intimate  fash- 
ion. 

"  No."  The  negative  was  sufficiently  decisive  to 
make  the  driver  send  a  sharp  glance  at  his  com- 
panion. 

".Why  not?" 

"  Several  why  nots.  One  is  because  you  said 
last  night  you  were  going  to  work  in  earnest.  You 
can't  do  that  and  keep  flying  out  to  Greendale  every 


September  Afternoon  71 

other  day  the  way  you  have  been  doing  all  summer. 
Besides,  I  expect  to  be  busy  myself." 

"  You !  May  I  ask  what  you  are  going  to  do 
that  is  so  almighty  important?" 

"  You  may  ask  but  I  am  not  likely  to  inform 
you  if  you  take  that  tone." 

Jack  whistled  softly. 

"  Gee !     Am  I  in  as  bad  as  all  that  ?  " 

"As  all  what?  Did  I  sound  cross?"  Sylvia 
smiled  relentingly.  "  Well,  maybe  I  was.  I  hate 
the  lordly  male  attitude  you  assume  at  times.  Your 
tone  bristled  with  it  just  then." 

"Did  it?"  he  chuckled.  "Sorry.  Honest,  I 
didn't  mean  to  patronize  your  ladyship.  So  far 
from  feeling  lordly  in  your  presence  you  usually 
make  me  feel  infernally  infinitesmal,  not  to  say 
atomic.  I  have  a  fearful  and  wonderful  respect 
for  your  serene  high  mightiness.  I  truly  did  want 
to  know  what  you  were  going  to  do." 

"  I  am  going  to  get  to  work  on  my  music  for 
one  thing.  I've  promised  to  practice  with  Gus. 
Then  I  am  going  to  learn  to  cook." 

"  In  the  name  of  heaven  why?  " 

"  Because  I  want  to,  chiefly.  Also  I  think  every- 
body—  male  and  female  —  ought  to  know  how." 

Jack  groaned. 


72  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Thence  to  dressmaking  and  millinery,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"  Hardly.  I  haven't  the  slightest  interest  in  sew- 
ing, though  I  could  do  it  on  a  pinch  I  believe.  I 
know  I  couldn't  trim  a  hat  —  at  least  not  one  I 
would  wear.  But  cooking  is  different.  I  believe 
I  could  get  up  quite  a  passion  for  it.  Hilda  used 
to.  She  claimed  it  was  just  as  much  an  art  to 
create  a  perfect  salad  as  to  write  a  sonnet." 

"  I'd  vote  for  the  salad  personally.  By  the  way, 
where  is  Hilda  ?  Heard  lately  ?  " 

"  No,  and  I'm  worried.  One  hears  such  horrid 
stories  of  what  is  happening  over  there.  I  don't 
know  whether  she  and  the  Armstrongs  can't  get 
back  or  don't  want  to." 

"  Most  likely  the  latter.  Johnny  Armstrong  is 
darned  likely  to  do  what  he  wants.  He  is  just 
the  boy  not  to  want  to  get  back  to  safe  and  sane 
America.  He  is  much  more  apt  to  be  down  in  a 
trench  or  up  in  a  'plane  by  this  time." 

"I  know.  He's  a  wonder  —  one  of  the  finest 
men  I  know.  Just  to  think  he  was  my  gardener 
once !  Wasn't  it  funny  ?  " 

"  He  got  mighty  good  pay  for  that  piece  of  mas- 
querading. Constance  is  a  shade  too  much  on  the 
grand  duchess  order  for  my  taste  but  she  suits  him 


September  Afternoon  73 

down  to  the  ground.  Only  wish  Isabel  had  drawn 
a  man  like  John  instead  of  the  rotter  she  took  a 
fancy  to  marry."  For  a  moment  Jack's  serene 
brow  looked  thundery.  "  Queer  world !  "  he  mut- 
tered. "  Sometimes  I  think  we  Amidons  are 
doomed  to  go  amuck  one  way  or  another. 
Jeanette's  not  much  better  off.  Guess  we're  all  sort 
of  rudderless  as  you  say,  excepting  Dad.  He  knows 
where  he  is  going  all  right." 

"  You  had  better  get  on  to  his  ship  then,"  sug- 
gested Sylvia  a  little  dryly. 

"  I  am  going  to.  You  needn't  think  I  didn't 
mean  what  I  said  last  night.  I  did  mean  it,  every 
word.  If  sticking  to  a  job  is  going  to  mean  get- 
ting what  I  want,  I'll  stick  tighter  than  a  stamp." 

There  was  a  ring  of  determination  in  his  voice 
which  startled  Sylvia  a  little,  it  sounded  so  alarm- 
ingly conclusive. 

"  Jack !     I  didn't  promise,"  she  protested. 

"  Oh,  I  know.  I'm  not  such  a  cad  as  to  throw 
it  up  at  you  if  even  the  sticking  isn't  enough.  But 
if  it's  the  one  chance  I'm  too  good  a  gambler  not 
to  take  it  —  or  to  kick  if  I  fail  in  the  end."  And 
Jack's  lips  came  together  with  a  firmness  which 
avouched  the  sincerity  of  his  statement. 

Sylvia    watching    the    landscape    flit    by    looked 


74  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

thoughtful.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  her 
companion  had  spoken  the  literal  truth.  Jack 
Amidon  was  first  and  last  a  good  gambler,  ready 
to  play  high  stakes,  to  win  or  lose  like  a  gentleman, 
without  vainglory  or  bitterness.  If  she  had  said 
yes  to  his  impassioned  plea  last  night  Sylvia  could 
not  help  wondering  if  a  little  of  the  ardor  of  his 
love  might  not  have  abated  in  spite  of  himself. 
Wasn't  it  the  chase  itself  he  loved?  If  so,  he  was 
only  his  father's  own  son.  Jackson  Amidon, 
Senior,  went  on  quietly  bagging  his  millions,  not 
because  he  cared  a  snap  of  his  fingers  for  the  money 
but  because  the  exhilaration  of  achieving  it  in  the 
face  of  obstacles  was  the  breath  of  life  to  him. 
Like  the  biblical  war  horses  he  metaphorically 
trumpeted  "  Ha  Ha !  "  in  the  battle  hour.  With 
father  and  son  the  game  itself  was  the  thing.  The 
nature  of  the  stake  did  not  matter  so  much.  With 
one  it  was  Power,  with  the  other  Love,  as  it  hap- 
pened, but  with  both  the  zest  lay,  not  in  the  end, 
but  in  the  pursuit.  Of  course  Sylvia  did  not  rea- 
son all  this  out  clearly,  but  vaguely  she  sensed  the 
truth  which  the  boy's  words  had  revealed.  Many 
months  later  the  revelation  recurred  to  her  and  she 
wondered  if  Jack,  too,  had  understood  himself  as 
clearly  as  for  a  moment  she  had  understood  him. 


September  Afternoon  75 

She  thought  it  possible  with  his  keen  power  of  in- 
tuition, he  had  always  understood.  Perhaps  he 
had. 

So  through  the  deepening  autumnal  twilight  sped 
Youth  with  its  visions  and  its  questionings,  Youth 
unproved,  pressing  forward  toward  some  unknown 
mark  in  challenging  mood,  knowing  little  of  the 
eternal  mystery  of  Life  and  less  of  that  even  more 
baffling  mystery,  the  mystery  of  Self. 


CHAPTER  VI 

OF   MISSIONS,   AND   OMISSIONS 

"  H-MM  !  "  Suzanne  meditatively  surveyed  the 
depleted  feast.  "  Thermos  bottles !  Silver  spoons ! 
Sophisticated  salads !  Is  this  your  notion  of  rough- 
ing it,  Mr.  Jack  Amidon?  Of  all  Sybaritical  pic- 
nics!" 

"  Same  old  bugs !  Same  old  sticks  in  the  lemon- 
ade ! "  retorted  Jack,  leaning  forward  to  extract  a 
leaf  from  Sylvia's  cup  with  the  prong  of  a  salad 
fork.  "  The  good  old  times  aren't  utterly  gone." 

"  Oh,  but  think  of  the  bacon  bats  of  yesteryear!  " 
mourned  Suzanne.  "  The  fingers  I've  burned ! 
The  clothes  I've  spoiled!  The  smudges  wherewith 
I've  smudged  my  nose!  I  begin  to  feel  fatally 
reminiscent.  Give  me  some  more  lemonade,  I  pine 
to  drown  my  grief." 

"And  I  pine  to  see  the  sunset  from  Lover's 
Leap."  And  Sylvia  sprang  up  hastily,  perceiving 
that  the  sun  was  already  glinting  flame  and  gold 

76 


Of  Missions,  and  Omissions  77 

through  the  trees.  "  Come  on  everybody  or  it  will 
be  too  late."  The  others  rose  to  follow  her  lead. 
Phil  fell  into  step  beside  Sylvia,  leaving  Jack  to 
Barbara's  society,  as  Suzanne  and  Roger  had  at 
last  struck  up  a  conversation,  albeit  a  rather  non- 
amicable  one  and  strayed  off  together. 

"  Are  you  sure  your  name  isn't  Pease  Blossom 
or  Mustard  Seed  ?  I  could  swear  you  were  a  fairy. 
Are  you  really  a  Militant  ?  Would  you  resist  forci- 
ble feeding?  Here,  let  me  test  you  with  a  pickle." 

But  Barb  only  laughed  and  accepted  the  pickle. 

"  I'm  nothing  militant  to-night.  I'm  at  peace 
with  the  whole  world." 

"  Even  the  menacing  male? "  teased  Jack. 

"  The  menacing  male  is  a  spoiled  baby,  biting 
off  his  own  nose.  Mr.  Amidon,  it  would  serve 
you  right  if  I  delivered  a  suffrage  lecture  here  and 
now.  I  don't  believe  you  know  a  thing  about  the 
movement,"  severely. 

"  Heaven  forbid !  "  he  ejaculated  piously. 

"  You  will  sing  a  different  tune  before  many 
years.  You'll  have  it  forcibly  fed  to  you  unless  you 
take  to  it  of  your  own  accord  as  babies  take  to 
their  thumbs." 

"  I  believe  I  could  bear  to  have  even  Suffrage 
rammed  into  me  at  your  hands,  Mademoiselle  Mus- 


78  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

tard  Seed,  especially  if  you  would  make  pansy  eyes 
at  me  while  you  did  it,"  he  added  audaciously. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  those  eyes  of 
yours  anyway  ?  They  are  altogether  too  expressive 
to  be  wasted  on  a  Cause." 

Barb  frowned. 

"  You  wouldn't  wear  a  last  year's  hat.  Why  do 
you  use  last  century  methods  with  women?  They 
hate  compliments." 

"Do  they?  I  wonder."  And  his  wonder  was 
genuine.  He  honestly  reflected  a  moment.  Sylvia 
did  hate  compliments  he  knew.  But  then  he  never 
offered  her  any.  He  never  even  flirted  with  Sylvia, 
though  she  was  about  the  only  pretty  girl  of  his 
acquaintance  of  whom  as  much  could  be  said.  He 
had  been  perfectly  willing  to  play  the  game  a  deux 
with  this  demurely  charming,  pansy-eyed,  little  suf- 
fragist however.  But  he  was  evidently  not  going 
to  be  permitted  to  have  his  will.  Were  Barbara 
Day  and  Sylvia  and  the  sharp-tongued  Suzanne 
really  a  new  breed  of  womankind?  Were  his  own 
sisters  and  the  dozens  of  other  girls  of  their  kind 
with  whom  he  had  played  and  danced  and  flirted 
for  the  past  five  or  six  years  really  an  older  type, 
soon  to  be  as  extinct  as  the  Dodo?  Only  for  a 
moment,  however,  he  wondered.  Jack  was  not 


Of  Missions,  and  Omissions  79 

much  given  to  serious  thinking.  He  took  life  and 
the  feminine  sex  on  the  whole  rather  as  he  found 
them.  He  was  always  genially  ready  to  "  play 
up  "  to  both.  He  was  now.  It  was  rather  agree- 
able he  thought  to  watch  Barb's  eyes  shine  and  the 
color  surge  in  her  cheeks,  so  he  laid  the  match  to 
the  tow  chiefly  from  an  artistic  impulse  to  see  the 
flame. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  urged.  "  What  is  this  thing  you 
girls  are  up  to?  What  is  it  you  are  going  to  New 
York  to  do?" 

Barb  shot  him  a  shrewd  rather  indignant  glance. 
Then  she  laughed. 

"  You  don't  really  care,  but,  just  to  punish  you, 
I'm  going  to  tell  you.  You  deserve  it." 

And  then  she  did  tell  him,  a  little  reservedly  at 
first,  but  soon  losing  both  her  resentment  and  her 
shyness  she  forgot  herself  entirely  and  warmed  to 
her  loved  theme,  betraying  something  of  the  dream 
of  her  Aunt  Josephine,  of  herself,  of  all  women 
who  think  and  feel  and  are  forever  disenchanted 
with  any  Pisgah  heights  they  themselves  might  have 
the  luck  to  attain,  so  long  as  the  great  weary  horde 
of  the  "  dispossessed "  wait  without  the  gates, 
scarcely  even  knowing  in  the  apathy  of  their  misery 
that  there  is  a  Promised  Land.  And  her  listener 


80  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

did  not  scoff  even  to  himself  at  the  revelation  he 
was  vouchsafed.  He  had  the  grace  to  recognize 
with  suitable  humility  that  he  unworthily  had  been 
permitted  a  brief  glimpse  into  a  holy  of  holies. 
And  irreverence  was  not  one  of  Jack's  failings,  for 
all  his  habitual  levity  of  mood. 

In  the  meanwhile,  not  far  ahead,  Roger  and 
Suzanne  were  quarreling  hotly.  At  least  Suzanne 
was  quarreling.  Roger  never  quarreled,  which  was 
perhaps  one  of  his  most  glaring  defects  in  Suzanne's 
eyes. 

"  I  told  you  not  to  come  and  you  came,"  was  the 
burden  of  Suzanne's  complaint. 

"  I  didn't  come  to  see  you.  I  didn't  even  know 
you  were  in  Greendale  until  Jack  told  me.  And 
when  I  knew,  how  could  I  resist  a  chance  to  see  you, 
especially  as  it  will  be  months  before  I  can  see 
you  again?  Be  reasonable,  Suzanne.  Why  are 
you  so  angry  at  me  for  coming?  " 

Suzanne  shot  him  an  exasperated  and  somewhat 
malicious  glance.  Unfortunately,  Mr.  Minot  was 
a  lawyer  and  not  a  clairvoyant  and  therefore  was 
totally  without  means  of  knowing  that  the  chief 
reason  for  Suzanne's  anger  was  the  fact  that  she 
had  been  so  foolishly  glad  to  see  him.  For  every 
quickened  beat  of  her  pulse  in  his  near  presence  poor 


Of  Missions,  and  Omissions  81 

Roger  had  to  pay  with  a  lash  of  her  tongue.  An- 
gry, indeed,  was  Suzanne  at  Roger  Minot  for  dis- 
obeying her  royal  mandates,  but  angrier  still  was 
she  at  Suzanne  Morrison  for  being  automatically 
glad  of  his  nearness.  Scant  wonder  the  young 
lawyer  had  a  very  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  as  he 
mounted  the  pine-needled  slope  toward  the  sunset. 

Phil  and  Sylvia  had  less  to  say  than  either  of 
the  other  couples,  strange  to  say,  though  it  had 
seemed  to  both  beforehand  they  would  have  volumes. 
The  hush  of  the  forest  and  the  hour  seemed  to  have 
cast  a  spell  upon  them,  or  was  it  an  even  more 
potent  enchantment  that  held  them  fast  bound  in 
silence  ?  They  had  seen  so  little  of  each  other  dur- 
ing this  brief  visit  of  Phil's.  Last  night  had  been 
too  full  and  joyous  and  excited  for  much  conversa- 
tion, even  had  Sylvia's  responsibilities  as  hostess 
left  her  much  time  for  her  latest  arrived  guest. 
Those  few  moments  on  the  stairs  had  been  prac- 
tically —  indeed,  the  only  ones  —  they  had  enjoyed 
alone,  and  this  morning  Phil  had  given  to  his  mother 
while  Sylvia  and  her  guests  slept  away  the  hours 
up  at  the  Hall.  Both  had  felt  a  little  aggrieved  and 
cheated  at  the  way  circumstances  had  curtailed  the 
pleasure  of  their  being  together  for  the  first  time 
since  the  June  Commencement  at  college.  Yet  now 


82  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

that  the  awaited  moment  had  come  at  last  neither 
seemed  to  have  anything  particular  to  do  with  it.  It 
was  strange,  and  both  felt  slightly  embarrassed  by 
the  strangeness,  suddenly  grown  shy,  after  all  their 
years  of  friendship. 

"  Oh ! "  Sylvia  uttered  the  exclamation  as  she 
stepped  out  upon  the  great  ledge  of  rock  from 
which  she  could  see  the  sun's  gold  rim  just  dipping 
behind  the  crest  of  the  topmost  purple  peak  leaving 
a  sea  of  tulip  colors  in  its  wake. 

For  a  moment  neither  spoke  again.  A  mood  of 
complete  serenity  was  upon  them  that  forbade 
speech,  a  sense  of  nearness,  each  to  the  other,  and 
to  some  high  other  Presence  which  might  have  been 
God  or  Nature  or  Love  or  a  mystic  commingling 
of  all  three.  Were  the  three,  indeed,  a  new  Trin- 
ity, perfect  and  indivisible?  There  was  a  crackling 
among  the  bushes  behind,  the  sound  of  voices.  The 
others  were  near.  The  enchanted  moment  passed. 
Sylvia  sighed,  and,  turning,  met  Phil's  eyes  and  her 
own  drooped  before  what  she  saw  there.  No  word 
was  spoken,  nor  needed,  yet  something  unforget- 
table had  been  communicated.  Sylvia's  heart  was 
beating  a  little  more  quickly  than  usual  and  there 
was  dew  and  star  shine  in  her  eyes  as  she  smiled  at 
Jack  and  Barbara,  a  shine  which  was  lost  on  neither 


Of  Missions,  and  Omissions  83 

of  the  two  new  arrivals,  though  later  it  suited  both 
to  pretend  they  had  never  seen  it.  For  the  moment 
Barbara's  only  feeling  was  a  quick  compunction  lest 
they  had  interrupted  something  which  they  had  no 
right  to  share.  As  for  her  companion,  sharp  fear 
and  half  resentful  jealousy  went  through  him  like 
keen-bladed  knives.  Had  he  lost  just  at  the  moment 
when  he  seemed  to  have  gained  something  almost 
tangible?  And  then  Suzanne  and  Roger  reached 
the  rock  also,  arriving  rather  dilatorily  by  another 
path,  having  arrived  also  apparently  at  a  state  of 
something  faintly  resembling  truce,  for  Suzanne  was 
wearing  a  spray  of  vivid  scarlet  berries  which  Roger 
had  risked  thorns  and  a  possible  broken  neck  to 
acquire.  The  risk  had  been  worth  it,  it  seemed,  for 
Roger  was  looking  happier  than  at  any  moment 
since  Suzanne  had  first  snubbed  him  several  hours 
ago  on  Sylvia's  piazza. 

Barb,  standing  apart,  watching  the  whole  pageant 
from  the  outside,  felt  oddly  cold  and  lonely  all  of  a 
sudden.  There  seemed  to  be  so  much  love  in  the 
world  somehow  and  yet  so  little  left  over,  as  it 
were.  And  Sylvia  and  Suzanne  —  did  they  know  ? 
Did  they  even  begin  to  know  how  precious  love  was  ? 
How  one  needed  it  in  this  great  lonely  world  ?  She 
walked  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and  looked  down  at 


84  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

the  river  whose  rapid  current  whirled  fiercely,  down 
below  her.  She  remembered  Sylvia's  story  of  how 
the  rock  was  named.  There  are  so  many  Lover's 
Leaps  in  the  world  and  their  stories  are  all  some- 
what the  same  story.  An  Indian  girl  and  her  lover 
had  been  forbidden  to  marry  because  they  belonged 
to  hostile  tribes  and  here  they  had  gladly  taken  the 
consecrated  leap  together,  hand  in  hand,  into  space 
and  eternity,  one  in  death  as  they  could  never  have 
been  in  life. 

What  a  strange  thing  love  was !  So  Barb  medi- 
tated. Was  it  something  to  be  avoided  as  Suzanne 
insisted  because  it  demanded  too  high  toll?  The 
others  had  seated  themselves  on  the  rock  to  watch 
the  shifting  panorama  of  color  in  the  western  skies, 
but  Barb  wandered  off  by  herself,  still  pondering 
about  that  strange  thing  love.  And  the  others 
scarcely  noticed  her  going,  which  was  in  its  way  a 
symbol. 

Suddenly  a  single  sharp  cry  broke  the  silence  of 
the  dusk  and  then  ceased.  They  all  sprang  to  their 
feet  in  alarm,  but  it  was  Phil  Lorrimer's  quick  eye 
that  first  discovered  what  had  happened.  Below 
them,  and  somewhat  at  the  right  of  the  outcropping 
ledge  on  which  they  stood,  hung  Barbara,  clinging 
to  a  slender  sapling  whose  trunk  bent,  it  seemed 


Of  Missions,  and  Omissions  85 

almost  to  snapping  beneath  her  slight  weight  Syl- 
via saw,  too,  almost  at  the  same  instant. 

"There  she  is!"  Her  finger  pointed.  "Oh, 
Phil!" 

But  Phil  had  not  waited  for  his  embassy.  He 
was  already  speeding  down  the  steep  bank  on  his 
way  to  the  scene  of  the  accident. 

"  Hold  on,"  he  called  cheerfully.  "  I'm  coming. 
Can  I  reach  you  from  above  ?  " 

"  No."  Barb's  voice  sounded  faraway  but  steady 
as  Phil's  own.  "  Don't  try.  It's  all  crumbly." 

"  Hang  tight  then.     I'll  be  there  in  a  minute." 

In  what  appeared  to  be  an  endless  stretch  of  time  to 
everybody,  but  which  was  in  reality  an  astonishingly 
brief  interval,  Phil's  tall  form  appeared  on  the  river 
bank  precisely  beneath  the  tiny  figure  suspended  as 
it  seemed  in  midair,  but  still  clinging  pluckily  to  the 
stout  ash  sapling  which  held  her  weight  gallantly. 
The  distance  between  Phil  and  the  girl  was  perhaps 
ten  feet,  though  it  looked  much  more  in  the  gulfing 
darkness  to  them  both. 

"  All  right.     Let  go.     I'll  catch  you." 

A  shudder  shook  Barb's  whole  body.  That  slim, 
tough  little  ash-tree  seemed  all  that  kept  her  from 
the  greedy  swirl  of  the  black  river.  Her  hands  were 
grooved  and  cut  with  clinging  and  her  arms  ached 


86  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

until  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  bear  the  pain,  but 
for  all  that  she  felt  as  if  the  one  thing  she  could 
not  do  was  to  release  her  hold  and  slip  into  the  dark- 
ness. But  there  below  loomed  Phil  Lorrimer's  com- 
forting size  and  strength  and  Barb's  courage  grew 
as  she  looked  down  into  his  uplifted  face. 

"  Come  on,  Barbie,  I'm  right  here."  He  had 
never  called  her  anything  but  Miss  Day  before,  not 
even  Barbara.  Barbie  was  Sylvia's  name,  as  it  had 
once  been  her  mother's  in  the  dear  long  ago.  Some- 
how it  seemed  right  and  natural  and  sweet  that  Phil 
should  use  it  now.  Suddenly  she  became  the  trust- 
ing, obedient  little  girl  Barbie  again  and  without  a 
quiver  of  dread  and  with  a  heart  at  peace  and  full 
of  faith  she  let  go  her  hold  on  the  ash  and  went 
down,  down,  down  into  space  —  a  surprisingly 
long  journey  it  seemed,  though  she  felt  perfectly 
comfortable  taking  it.  She  had  even  time  to  no- 
tice that  a  star  had  come  out  and  was  smiling  at 
her  friendlily  out  of  the  dusk  over  a  sycamore-tree. 
She  knew  somehow  or  rather  that  Phil  would  not 
fail  her.  Most  people  felt  that  about  Phil  Lorri- 
mer.  More  than  one  of  his  patients  had  been  will- 
ing and  unafraid  to  go  down  the  dark  valley  if  he 
would  stand  by  and  help  them  on  the  way. 

Certainly  he  did  not  fail  Barbara.     Though  the 


Of  Missions,  and  Omissions  87 

shock  of  the  impact  of  even  her  "  fairy  "  figure 
made  him  sway  and  stagger  a  little,  he  caught  her 
as  deftly  as  he  had  been  wont  in  his  college  days 
to  catch  a  dazzling  outfielder.  In  a  second  he  had 
deposited  her  gently  on  the  soft  moss,  on  the  river 
bank.  Whereupon  Barb  gave  a  quick  breath  of  a 
sob  then  laughed  a  little  rippling  gurgle  of  a  laugh, 
though  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  D-don't  mi-nd  me,"  she  begged.  "  I'm  just 
being  g-glad  I  let  go." 

"  All  safe«! "  Phil's  big  voice  boomed  out  of  the 
darkness  to  the  relief  of  the  anxious  waiters  above 
on  the  cliff.  "  All  right,  little  lady  ?  Seeing  as 
you  wouldn't  walk  down,  suppose  we  say  you 
shan't  walk  up."  And  Barb  was  swept  like  a  sud- 
den victim  to  a  bird  of  prey  into  his  arms. 

"  Oh,    don't,"    she    begged.     "  Please    put    me 
down.     I  can  walk  perfectly  well.    I'm  dreadfully  • 
heavy." 

"  So  are  thistledown  and  dewdrops,"  he  laughed. 
"  Please  forget  you  are  a  feminist  for  once  and 
succumb  to  the  eternal  masculine  superiority  of 
brawn  and  muscle." 

And  in  spite  of  herself,  Barb  felt  oddly  con- 
tent to  let  herself  lie  passive  in  his  arms,  so  much 
so  that  she  closed  her  eyes  and  said  never  a  word. 


88  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

At  the  top  of  the  ascent,  which  had  been  short 
though  somewhat  steep,  Phil  put  down  his  bur- 
den, and  the  rest  crowded  around  the  two,  full  of 
excitement,  anxiety  and  questions.  But  Phil  ex- 
ercised his  doctor's  prerogatives  and  ordered  them 
to  let  Barb  alone  and  make  a  speedy  start  for  home. 
These  orders  were  meekly  obeyed,  though  they 
managed  little  by  little  to  get  the  information  of 
how  the  accident  had  occurred.  It  had  been  sim- 
ple enough.  The  rock  on  which  Barb  had  been 
standing  had  been  "  crumbly  "  as  she  had  said,  and 
before  she  had  had  time  to  realize  what  had  hap- 
pened she  had  slipped  with  the  shelving  stone  and 
soil  and  had  only  by  the  greatest  of  good  fortune 
managed  to  snatch  at  the  ash  in  her  descent  and 
thus  save  herself  from  the  disastrous  fall  into  the 
turbulent  rock-filled  bed  of  the  river.  It  had  been 
obviously  a  sufficiently  narrow  escape  to  make  them 
all  rather  silent  and  sober  as  they  packed  up  the 
remains  of  the  feast  and  made  their  way  to  the 
road  just  beyond  the  glade  where  the  car  waited. 

"  Want  to  have  a  try  at  the  wheel,  old  man  ?  " 
asked  Jack,  laying  an  affectionate  hand  on  Phil's 
shoulder  when  they  were  ready  to  start.  "  She's 
a  bird." 

"  Why,  yes."     Phil's  frank  face  lit  up  with  pleas- 


Of  Missions,  and  Omissions  89 

ure.     "  Sure   you   don't   mind,    Jackie    Homer  ? " 

"  Not  a  bit.  Glad  to  have  a  rest,"  acquiesced 
Jack  cheerfully.  "  Pile  in,  Sylvia.  Phil's  wait- 
ing." 

Sylvia's  eyes  flashed  quick  inquiry  at  Jack  as  he 
helped  her  into  the  seat  beside  the  driver.  He  met 
her  gaze  imperturbably  but  she  was  not  deceived 
by  his  noncommittal  expression.  Well  she  knew 
that  the  owner  of  the  "  bird  "  suffered  the  tortures 
of  the  damned  when  any  hand  beside  his  own  was 
on  the  wheel.  Well  she  knew  also  that  he  was  de- 
liberately giving  Phil  a  chance  to  do  more  than  run 
his  car.  It  was  so  precisely  like  Jack,  impulsively 
selfish  one  minute,  impulsively  generous  the  next. 

Through  the  white  star-lit  wonder  of  the  night 
the  car  sped,  while  its  occupants  sat  almost  silent, 
wrapped  in  an  incommunicable  garment  of  dreams. 

Later,  after  they  had  taken  leave  of  the  girls, 
Jack  and  Roger  went  with  Phil  to  the  station  at 
Baltimore.  But  Roger  stayed  in  the  car  while 
Jack  went  to  the  train  with  Phil.  Just  as  the  train 
pulled  in  Jack  stirred  himself  to  say  what  was  on 
his  mind. 

"  Phil !  Forgive  the  impertinence,  old  man,  but 
I've  got  to  know.  If  she  has  decided  for  you,  I'll 
clear  out.  You're  the  better  man  —  always  were." 


90  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

Phil  Lorrimer  drew  a  long  breath  and  set  his  lips 
rather  as  he  used  to  set  them  before  a  tackle  in  the 
field. 

"You  needn't  clear  out,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned. I  haven't  asked  Sylvia  to  marry  me. 
How  can  I?  I've  only  just  finished  paying  my 
college  debts  and  she  is  worth  something  like  a 
million.  Is  thy  servant  a  fool?"  he  added  a  little 
bitterly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack  Amidon.  "  The  biggest  kind 
of  fool.  Do  you  suppose  the  money  matters  a 
hang  to  her  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  matters  to  me,"  curtly.  "  Train's  un- 
der way.  'By."  And  with  a  hasty  but  warm 
pressure  of  the  hand  which  went  out  to  meet  his, 
Phil  boarded  the  moving  train,  leaving  Jack  star- 
ing after. 

"  Confound  the  fellow ! "  he  muttered. 
"  Hanged  if  I  know  whether  to  be  mad  or  glad  he's 
such  an  idiot.  How  did  he  dare  not  ask  Sylvia 
when  her  eyes  looked  like  that?  Gee!  Perhaps 
he  didn't  see." 

But  Phil  Lorrimer  had  seen,  and  all  that  night 
he  stared  sleeplessly  out  at  the  stars  and  the  twin- 
kling lights  of  villages  and  cities,  love  and  pride 
battling  within  him.  Once  or  twice  he  made  up 


Of  Missions,  and  Omissions  91 

his  mind  feverishly  to  telegraph  Sylvia  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning.  Then  he  would  decide  it 
would  be  better  to  write  her  a  letter,  tell  her  ex- 
actly how  it  all  was  and  ask  if  she  cared  enough 
to  wait  for  him  until  he  had  something  worth  while 
to  offer  her.  And  all  the  time  he  knew  he  would 
do  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  would  fight  on  grimly 
by  himself,  and  if  in  the  meantime  somebody  else 
—  Jack  or  another  —  slipped  in  ahead,  well,  that 
would  mean  she  was  not  for  him,  if  he  knew  Syl- 
via. And  so  on  and  so  on  and  so  on.  But  never 
in  all  his  reasonings  did  it  occur  to  him  that  the 
money  was  as  nothing  between  him  and  Sylvia 
Arden,  neither  of  advantage  or  disadvantage,  sim- 
ply a  zero.  Jack  Amidon  knew  it  and  had  gener- 
ously endeavored  to  tell  his  rival.  Sylvia  knew 
it  and  her  eyes  had  also  tried  to  tell  him  that  night 
in  the  sunset.  But  poor  Phil,  blind  as  the  clearest 
sighted  man  sometimes  becomes  when  a  woman  is 
involved,  saw  Sylvia's  money  as  a  huge,  hateful, 
insurmountable,  mountain  peak  behind  which  stood 
Sylvia  herself,  only  to  be  reached  by  accumulating 
another  pile  of  gold  from  which  he  could  make  the 
leap  to  her. 

And  in  all  that  long  wakeful  night  he  never  once 
thought  of  little  Barbara  Day.     He  was  too  used 


92  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

to  saving  people,  one  way  or  another,  to  think  much 
about  this  latest  exploit  in  the  salvation  line;  and, 
besides,  his  mind  was  full  of  other  things. 

But  Barbara  dreamed  of  Phil  and  heard  his  deep 
voice  calling  out  of  the  darkness,  "  Come  on,  Bar- 
bie. I'm  right  here."  And  all  through  her  dreams 
the  star  over  the  sycamore-tree  kept  smiling  at  her 
friendlily  but  its  smile  was  oddly  mixed  up  with 
Phil  Lorrimer's. 


CHAPTER  VII 

OCTOBER    DEVELOPMENTS 

A  DEEPER  bronze  to  the  oaks  and  a  more  vivid 
scarlet  to  the  sumach.  A  sharper  tang  to  the  air, 
mornings.  Hilltops  veiled  in  amethyst  and  golden 
haze  on  the  meadows,  afternoons.  At  sundown, 
ghost-like  wraiths  of  mists  rising  up  from  the  river 
valley.  Now  and  then  a  clanging  wedge  of  wild 
geese  speeding  southward  through  the  night.  Oc- 
tober ! 

It  must  be  admitted  that  in  spite  of  Sylvia's 
"  vicious  contentedness  "  she  did  feel  the  Hall  a  little 
too  peaceful  and  quiet  after  her  friends  had  gone,  and 
she  settled  back  into  the  very  life  she  had  chosen 
for  herself.  The  summer  had  been  brimful  of 
guests  and  gayeties,  with  people  coming  and  going 
all  the  time  and  always  some  new  delightful  project 
or  enthralling  interest  afoot,  a  true  Forest  of  Ar- 
den  atmosphere  of  sunshine  and  happiness  and 
blithe  irresponsibility. 

Even  the  sharp  and  sudden  thunder  crash,  heard 

93 


94  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

from  overseas  in  that  fateful  early  August,  the  din 
of  great  nations  rushing  to  arms,  came  only  vaguely 
to  Sylvia's  happy  Hill  as  to  most  of  America.  Slow 
to  waken,  the  country  had  not  at  once  sensed  the 
significance  of  what  was  happening.  Humane  and 
peaceful  itself,  it  had  not  taken  in  the  hideous  reality 
of  a  desolated  and  ravaged  Belgium,  the  inspiriting 
vision  of  a  risen  and  consecrated  France  beating 
the  enemy  back  from  Paris,  of  the  fearful  and  re- 
lentless grip  of  the  great  dog  of  war  upon  the 
stricken  nations.  To  Sylvia,  as  to  others,  it  all 
seemed  impossible,  incredible,  not  to  be  apprehended 
in  terms  of  actuality.  These  things  just  couldn't 
be,  that  was  all.  There  must  be  some  mistake  some- 
where. But  there  was  no  mistake.  People  kept 
coming  in  on  every  steamer  with  harrowing  tales  of 
well-substantiated  horror.  The  things  they  had 
seen  made  the  heart  sick  and  the  blood  run  cold.  It 
was  war  indeed.  However  horrible,  these  things 
were  possible,  had  happened. 

Perhaps  the  first  vital  realization  came  to  Sylvia 
as  it  came  to  nearly  every  one  in  this  country 
through  individual  testimony  of  friends.  Even  in 
September,  rumor  reached  her  that  John  Arm- 
strong's money  had  helped  to  establish  and  support 
a  field  hospital  "somewhere  in  France,"  that  his 


October  Developments  95 

wife  and  her  sister  Hilda  were  regular  Red  Cross 
nurses.  And  in  October  had  come  a  letter  from 
Hilda  herself,  describing  simply  but  with  the  fear- 
ful graphicness  of  the  bare  truth,  the  horrors,  the 
miracles,  the  splendid  thrills,  the  supreme  satisfac- 
tion of  the  work  she  and  Constance  had  undertaken. 
John  was  driving  a  relief  Ambulance  near  the  bat- 
tle line.  Bertram  was  at  the  front  somewhere. 
Bertram,  it  appeared,  was  the  young  Englishman 
to  whom  the  writer  had  very  recently  become  en- 
gaged after  a  romantically  brief  acquaintance.  Of 
course  it  was  horrible,  Hilda  admitted,  having  him 
there,  but  then  she  wouldn't  want  him  not  to  want 
to  be  there. 

All  this  Sylvia  read  with  absorbed  interest  and 
straightway  dispatched  a  generous  check  to  John 
Armstrong.  But  giving  money  being  altogether  in- 
sufficient to  express  her  abounding  sympathy  she 
also  learned  to  knit,  to  Jack's  huge  delectation  and 
much  raillery,  and  resolutely  set  herself  to  making 
sponges  and  rather  eccentric  looking  hose,  though 
this  process,  too,  scarcely  satisfied  her  when  she 
thought  of  what  her  friend  was  doing  over  in 
France.  In  fact,  it  satisfied  her  so  little  that  she 
very  speedily  abandoned  it  entirely  wherein  she  was 
rather  like  a  good  many  other  American  women 


96  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"A  thousand  shall  fall  at  thy  right  hand  but  it 
shall  not  come  nigh  thee  "  seemed  to  be  America's 
motto  in  those  days. 

Perhaps  the  thing  which  came  nearest,  that 
autumn,  to  offering  Sylvia  an  outlet  for  her  rest- 
less energy  was  her  music.  She  was  an  excellent 
accompanist  and  she  and  Gus  Nichols  spent  much 
time  together  previous  to  his  departure  for  the  con- 
cert tour  which  was  to  begin  early  in  November. 
And  while  Sylvia  was  intent  on  her  own  dreams 
and  quandaries,  weaving  much  she  scarcely  under- 
stood herself  into  the  music,  she  had  not  the  slight- 
est perception  that  these  hours  she  gave  the  young 
violinist  meant  anything  more  to  him  than  to  her- 
self, an  agreeable  mutual  expression  in  a  loved  art. 
"  Music  is  Love  in  search  of  a  word  "  and  if  the 
boy's  violin  struggled  more  than  once  to  tell 
her  what  his  lips  would  never  have  ventured  on, 
Sylvia,  with  her  mind  on  other  things,  did  not 
hear. 

Long  enthusiastic  letters  came  frequently  from 
Suzanne,  ensconced,  according  to  schedule,  in  a 
dingy  studio  in  the  Square  where  one  is  not  en- 
cumbered with  needless  luxuries  like  steam  heat  and 
bath  tubs  and  electricity,  where  one  steeps  in  "  At- 
mosphere," and  pays  far  more  than  he  can  afford 


October  Developments  97 

for  the  privilege  of  living  very  uncomfortably  but 
artistically.  Her  letters  reeked  of  Bohemia,  of 
"  Polly's  "  and  "  Bruno's  Garret,"  of  the  delicious 
glamour  and  picturesqueness  of  the  inimitable  Vil- 
lage, of  the  thrill  and  stimulus  of  the  whole  mar- 
velous city  of  which  the  Village  was  a  unique 
part. 

Barb,  too,  wrote  often,  though  with  less  abandon 
of  rejoicement  in  her  new  way  of  life.  It  was  all 
"  interesting."  Aunt  Jo  was  "  wonderful."  The 
Metropolitan  was  "  magnificent"  People  were 
"kind."  But  there  was  a  faint  panic-stricken  note 
beneath  it  all,  at  first,  which  made  Sylvia  wonder 
if  poor  Barbara  were  a  little  submerged  by  the 
very  seething  whirlpool  which  was  such  supreme 
delight  to  Suzanne.  It  was  as  if  both  were  on  a 
"  Merry-Go-Round,"  and  Suzanne  kept  clapping 
her  hands  and  crying  "Faster!  Faster!"  while 
Barb's  timid  "  pansy  "  eyes  begged  in  silence  for  a 
safer,  less  mad  rate  of  revolution. 

Aside  from  her  aunt,  of  whom  Barb  could  never 
say  enough,  the  person  most  frequently  mentioned 
in  her  letters  was  Philip  Lorrimer.  "  Dr.  Lorrimer 
is  so  good  to  me."  "  Dr.  Lorrimer  took  me  to  a 
roof  garden  last  night."  "  Phil  and  I  rode  over  on 
the  ferry  to  Staten  Island  to  cool  off  last  evening." 


98  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Phil  just  came  in  and  sends  greetings.  He  is 
going  to  take  me  to  a  Socialist  meeting  soon." 
"  Aunt  Jo  likes  Phil  so  much,"  and  so  forth. 

And  though  Sylvia  made  no  comment  on  this 
new  development  it  gave  her  cause  for  reflection. 
Sylvia  was  more  than  ever  "  at  sea "  these  days. 
That  sunset  moment  on  Lover's  Leap  had  been  an 
illuminating  moment  for  her  and  she  guessed  it  had 
been  one  for  Phil  also.  Though  she  told  herself 
later  she  must  have  been  mistaken,  she  knew  in 
her  heart  she  had  not  been  so.  The  look  in  Phil's 
eyes  as  they  had  met  hers  that  moment  was  unmis- 
takable, more  eloquent  than  volumes  of  speech. 
She  had  felt  the  same  thing  vibrating  in  his  voice 
when  later  he  had  bidden  her  "  Good  night "  and 
"  Good-by  "  and  stepped  into  Jack's  car,  something 
which  met  a  quick  leap  of  response  in  herself.  Syl- 
via was  very  womanly  and  she  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened, though  she  did  not  know  whether  the  thing 
was  going  to  be  permanent  or  not. 

All  that  next  day  and  the  next  and  for  a  week 
beyond  she  watched  the  mails,  pretending  to  her- 
self, feminine  wise,  that  she  was  doing  nothing  of 
the  sort.  And,  finally,  when  on  the  tenth  day  a 
brotherly,  brief,  impersonal,  not  to  say  casual,  note 
came  from  New  York  in  Phil's  big  sprawling  hand, 


October  Developments  99 

she  felt  as  if  a  shower  of  icy  water  had  been  hurled 
at  her.  Not  that  she  wanted  Phil  to  ask  her  to 
marry  him,  not  that  she  was  at  all  sure  she  would 
have  said  yes  if  he  had  asked  her.  She  was  by  no 
means  certain  it  would  not  be  Jack  to  whom  she 
would  surrender  when  the  time  came  for  surrender. 
At  least  so  she  told  herself  to  save  her  pride.  Cer- 
tainly she  was  far  from  ready  to  marry  any  man  that 
Fall,  sincerely  desirous  as  she  was  to  belong  to  her- 
self awhile  as  she  had  told  Jack.  Nevertheless 
Phil's  very  discretion  angered  and  hurt  her.  Every 
now  and  then  she  was  tortured  by  an  agonizing  fear 
that  in  the  strange  exhilaration  of  that  moment  in 
the  forest  she  might  have  betrayed  to  him  more 
than  she  had  been  in  any  degree  willing  to  admit  to 
herself.  Consequently,  Philip  Lorrimer,  M.  D.,  got 
very  few  and  very  brief  letters  from  Arden  Hall 
those  golden  autumn  days. 

Neither  is  it  strange  that  out  of  favor  with  his 
"  Faraway  Princess "  Phil  turned  to  sympathetic 
little  Barbara  in  his  few  idle  hours.  Not  that  he 
took  Barb  into  his  confidence.  Indeed  there  were 
no  confidences  to  make.  To  no  one  in  the  world 
would  he  have  admitted  that  Sylvia's  apparent  in- 
difference hurt.  Sylvia  had  the  right  to  ignore  him 
if  she  chose.  The  Queen  could  do  no  wrong.  Nor 


100  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

was  there  anything  to  say  about  the  rumors  which 
reached  him  frequently  that  Sylvia  and  Jack  were 
often  together,  and  that  an  engagement  was  obvi- 
ously to  be  expected  if  not  already  secretly  in  exist- 
ence. That,  too,  he  had  counted  on  as  a  possibility 
when  he  had  told  Jack  there  was  no  reason  for  him 
to  "  clear  out."  Phil  Lorrimer  was  man  enough  to 
want  the  lady  of  his  heart  to  be  free  in  her  choice. 
Had  he  been  in  Jack's  postion  he  would  have  entered 
the  race  and  run,  neck  and  neck,  beside  his  rival 
and  abided  the  end  whatever  it  was.  But  he  was 
handicapped,  or  so  he  believed,  by  his  poverty,  so  he 
set  his  teeth  and  stood  out  of  the  way  leaving  Jack 
a  clear  road.  If  Jack  could  win  —  well,  it  meant 
Sylvia  cared,  that  was  all.  Phil's  philosophy  was  a 
very  simple  one. 

In  the  meantime  there  was  work.  And  Phil  was 
the  kind  to  be  able  to  assuage  nearly  every  mortal 
ill  in  work.  In  the  strenuous  demands  of  the  day- 
time hours  at  the  hospital  he  had  little  chance  to 
brood  over  any  personal  woes  and  when  night  came 
on  he  took  what  consolation  he  could,  man  fashion, 
from  another  woman's  obvious  pleasure  in  his  so- 
ciety, never  once  suspecting  he  was  playing  with 
edged  tools  any  more  than  Barb  herself  did.  Of  the 
physiological  action  of  the  heart  Phil  Lorrimer  knew 


101 

a  great  deal  but  of  the  more  subtle  manifestations  of 
that  organ  he  knew  astonishingly  little. 

Only  Miss  Josephine  Murray  kept  her  keen  eyes 
wide  open.  "  Babes  in  the  wood !  "  she  thought 
sometimes.  "  Heavens !  What  a  fearful  thing  it 
is  to  be  young !  "  And  then  seeing  the  soft  flush  on 
Barb's  cheeks  when  she  came  in  from  an  excursion 
with  the  young  doctor,  and  the  starry  shine  in  her 
eyes,  Miss  Murray  would  add  grimly  to  herself, 
"  Fearful  but  divine !  It's  a  million  years  since  I  had 
the  gift  of  looking  like  that." 

And  sometimes  she  would  ask  her  niece  questions 
about  young  Dr.  Lorrimer,  and  Barb  would  chatter 
on  innocently  about  him,  how  he  was  an  old,  old 
friend  of  Sylvia's,  so  old,  they  were  almost  like 
brother  and  sister,  though  she  and  Suzanne  used 
sometimes  to  think  maybe  Sylvia  would  marry  him 
some  time,  but  now  everybody  said  it  would  be  Jack 
Amidon.  And  once  Barb  had  told  the  story  of  how 
she  had  slipped  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff  and  hung 
to  the  little  ash-tree  until  Phil  had  called  to  her  to 
let  go  and  she  had  obeyed  and  gone  down,  down  into 
space,  not  one  tiny  bit  afraid  for  she  had  felt  just 
as  sure  as  sure  that  Phil  Lorrimer  would  catch  her 
just  as  he  promised. 

"  He's  the  kind  of  person  you  just  have  to  have 


102  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

faith  in.  You  know  he  wouldn't  fail  you,  no  mat- 
ter what  happened,"  she  had  finished.  And  Aunt 
Jo  had  "  H-med  "  meditatively  and  risen  to  switch 
on  the  electric  light  and  sit  down  to  her  letters.  But 
Barb  had  lingered  before  the  gas  log,  watching 
its  scintillating  colors  and  lights  and  dreaming  little 
vague  pleasant  dreams.  Perhaps  the  Barb  who 
didn't  dare  let  herself  look  at  the  real  Barb  took  a 
shy  peep  that  night. 

As  for  Jack  Amidon,  he  was  extraordinarily  on 
his  good  behavior  that  autumn.  His  father  was 
grimly  pleased  to  find  him  prompt  and  assiduous 
at  his  office  desk,  a  rather  unexpected  departure 
from  his  career  of  the  past  two  years  when  he  had 
fulfilled  the  obligations  of  his  nominal  post  chiefly 
by  absent  treatment.  Possibly  the  sudden  change  of 
heart  on  the  part  of  his  rather  erratic  son  reminded 
the  old  man  of  a  similar  abrupt  right-about-face 
some  six  years  ago  when  the  same  delinquent  had 
announced  himself  blandly  as  being  "  on  the  wa- 
ter wagon "  after  a  rather  strenuous  course  of 
wild  oat  sowing.  Perhaps,  too,  Jackson  Amidon 
shrewdly  suspected  that  now  as  then  the  impetus  to 
the  reform  could  be  traced  to  a  vigorous-willed, 
clear-eyed  young  lady  who  tolerated  no  weaklings 
among  her  retinue. 


October  Developments  103 

"  The  boy's  taken  a  new  turn,"  he  thought. 
"  He'll  come  out  all  right  in  the  end.  He's  sound 
as  a  nut  inside  for  all  his  vagaries.  And  if  that 
little  girl  on  the  Hill  can  make  him  come  to,  it 
will  be  one  of  the  best  jobs  she  ever  landed."  And 
he  added  also  to  himself  that  if  the  day  ever  came 
when  he  should  welcome  Sylvia  Arden  as  his  third 
daughter  there  would  be  little  left  to  wish  for  in  the 
time  he  had  left.  And  then  his  eyes  had  grown 
sober,  for  his  own  daughters,  those  of  his  own  flesh 
and  blood,  had  never  been  of  much  comfort  to  him, 
dearly  as  he  loved  them.  Over  in  Europe,  Isabel 
was  already  threatening  stormily  to  get  a  divorce 
from  the  titled  rascal  she  had  insisted  on  marrying 
in  spite  of  her  father's  judgment  and  protestations. 
And  there  was  Jeanette,  beautiful,  willful  Jeanette, 
whose  frocks  were  the  last  cry  from  Paris  and  whose 
cars  and  horses  and  houses  and  entertainments  were 
all  the  most  daring  and  expensive  America  could 
produce !  He,  himself,  had  given  her  all  the  money 
her  little  hands  could  hold  or  spend  and  Francis 
Latham  had  gone  on  with  the  prodigious  task  but 
neither  one  of  them  had  been  able  to  give  her  happi- 
ness. That  was  all  too  evident.  Perhaps  if  there 
had  been  children  it  would  have  been  different. 
And  at  this  point  in  his  reflections  the  old  man  al- 


104  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

ways  broke  off  with  a  sigh,  for  he  knew  that  the 
moment  when  Jack  should  bring  Sylvia  home  for  a 
bride  could  only  yield  precedence  in  satisfaction  to 
that  other  hoped-for  moment  when  he  should  see  his 
grandson,  Jackson  Amidon,  the  third.  Then,  in- 
deed, the  curtain  might  go  down  when  it  pleased. 

These  dreams  of  Jackson  Amidon's  did  not  look 
so  all  improbable  that  October.  Jack  was  distinctly 
"  on  the  job  "  as  he  would  have  expressed  it,  doing 
his  level  best  to  make  a  man  of  himself,  since  that 
was  what  Sylvia  demanded,  and  sunning  himself 
happily  in  her  favor  during  their  mutual  leisure 
hours.  Very  good  comrades  the  two  were.  Youth 
turns  to  youth  as  a  morning  glory  to  the  sun  and 
the  Goddess  of  Propinquity  is  a  lady  of  much  in- 
fluence. Certainly  it  was  not  strange  that  people 
prophesied  that  an  engagement  would  soon  be  an- 
nounced. Possibly  it  was  not  strange  either,  that 
Jack  and  Sylvia  themselves  believed  such  a 
denouement  entirely  probable  in  course  of  time. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FIRE  AND   FROST 

"  Lois,  aren't  you  ever  going  to  write  any  more?  " 
Sylvia  on  the  rug  before  the  fire  with  wee  Marjory 
in  her  arms  looked  up  over  that  young  person's 
bobbing  silver  curls  to  ask  the  question. 

Lois  Daly  sitting  by  the  window  to  catch  the  last 
bit  of  daylight,  ran  her  hand  into  a  small  stocking 
to  investigate  the  number  of  casualties  before  she 
answered. 

"  Maybe.     When  the  kiddies  are  grown  up." 

"  But  don't  you  mind  not  doing  it  now  ?  Don't 
you  want  to  do  it  dreadfully  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Not  especially.  In  fact  I  don't  believe  I  could 
write  now  if  I  tried.  I've  lost  the  knack  as  well  as 
the  impulse.  You  have  no  idea  how  much  such 
things  are  a  matter  of  mere  habit."  Lois'  voice  had 
an  even  flow  suggesting  cool,  shady,  translucent 
waters.  Sometimes  her  friend's  serenity  irritated 

Sylvia.     It  did  now. 

105 


106  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Well,  I  think  that  is  all  wrong,"  she  announced 
decidedly.  "  You  oughtn't  to  have  let  it  go." 

"Just  how  could  I  have  helped  it?  You  may 
recall  I  have  been  moderately  busy  these  last  few 
years.  I  haven't  had  much  time  to  entertain  liter- 
ary angels." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  acknowledged  Sylvia  penitently, 
curling  one  of  Marjory's  ringlets  around  her  finger 
as  she  spoke.  "  You  couldn't,  of  course,  with  the 
house  and  the  babies  and  the  little  mother's  death 
and  everything.  But  couldn't  you  begin  again 
now?" 

"  Why  should  I  ?  Tom  doesn't  need  an  author 
in  his  household.  He  needs  a  housekeeper  and  a 
nurse  and  a  seamstress  and  a  wife."  There  was  a 
faintly  satirical  twist  to  Lois'  lips  as  she  made  the 
statement.  "Of  the  four  he  needs  the  wife  least,  of 
course.  He  is  too  busy  to  enjoy  my  society.  This 
hospital  project  is  the  last  straw." 

Sylvia  looked  thoughtful.  Somehow  there  did 
seern  to  be  something  wrong  somewhere.  Doctor 
Tom  too  occupied  to  see  anything  of  his  beauti- 
ful, brilliant  wife;  she,  in  turn,  too  much  immersed 
in  household  and  maternal  cares  either  to  cultivate 
her  own  particular  gift  or  pay  much  attention  to  the 
things  her  husband  was  so  vitally  interested  in! 


Fire  and  Frost  107 

These  two  had  started  out  so  well.  They  were 
both  so  fine,  so  thoroughly  devoted  at  heart  to  each 
other.  What  was  the  trouble?  Was  marriage  al- 
ways a  compromise  like  this?  Sylvia  did  not  like 
to  think  so.  Somewhere  there  must  have  been 
something  which  could  have  been  done  differently. 
Woman-like  she  was  a  bit  inclined  to  blame  the 
other  woman.  If  only  Lois  had  cared  a  little  more 
for  the  things  Doctor  Tom  cared  for,  the  things 
which  to  Sylvia  seemed  so  splendid,  his  profession, 
his  tireless  service  to  the  community,  his  dreams  for 
its  progress  and  betterment!  Lois  rolled  up  the 
stockings  she  had  just  finished  mending  and  rose. 

"  Do  you  mind  staying  a  few  minutes  with  Mar- 
jory, Sylvia?  It  is  cook's  night  out  and  I  have 
to  see  about  supper." 

Sylvia  assented  willingly  and  Lois  departed. 
Even  as  the  door  closed  behind  her,  Sylvia  heard 
Doctor  Tom's  step  in  the  hall  and  his  cheerful  voice 
as  he  greeted  his  wife. 

"  Got  in  earlier  than  I  expected.  Come  on  back 
and  enjoy  the  twilight  with  me,"  she  heard  him 
inviting. 

Lois'  answer  was  inaudible  but  in  a  moment  Doc- 
tor Tom  entered  the  living-room  alone. 

"  Hello,  here's  my  best  daughter  and  my  star 


108  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

neighbor !  Come  on,  Cherub,  and  let  your  old  Dad 
toss  you  up  to  the  moon." 

Marjory  leaped  with  a  happy  little  crow  out  of 
Sylvia's  arms  and  Sylvia  rose  to  the  higher  level 
of  a  chair  while  she  smiled  at  the  baby's  gurgling 
delight  as  her  father  tossed  her  "  up  to  the  moon." 
Presently  the  doctor  seated  himself  before  the  fire 
with  his  small  daughter  still  in  his  arms.  As  he 
settled  back  with  a  tired  sigh  Sylvia  saw  with  sud- 
den quick  compunction  that  Doctor  Tom  looked  old 
—  too  old  for  his  years.  Some  of  his  characteris- 
tic buoyancy  had  gone  out  of  him. 

"  How  is  the  Curry  baby  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Died  early  this  morning,"  he  said. 

"  Oh !  "  Sylvia's  exclamation  was  pitiful.  "  Can 
I  do  anything?  " 

"  Go  down  and  see  the  mother.  She  is  like  a 
stone.  Can't  even  cry.  Maybe  the  baby's  better 
off.  The  father  is  drunk  half  the  time  and  there 
isn't  any  too  much  to  eat.  But  if  I  could  have  had 
Jimmy  in  a  decent  hospital  I  could  have  saved  him. 
Everything  was  against  him  down  there,  poor  little 
chap !  "  And  Tom  Daly's  big  hand  closed  over 
little  Marjory's  dimpled  one  as  if  somehow  to  keep 
her  safe  from  the  grim  enemy  that  had  pursued 


Fire  and  Frost  109 

Jimmy  Curry,  an  enemy  who  had  altogether  too 
many  allies  down  in  the  unsanitary  tenement  dis- 
trict where  the  baby  had  wearily  breathed  his  little 
life  in  and  out  again  in  one  short  year.  Then  the 
doctor's  fist  came  down  with  a  resounding  thump 
on  the  arm  of  the  chair.  "  I  tell  you,  Sylvia,  we 
have  got  to  get  that  hospital  and  get  it  quick.  We're 
wasting  human  life  too  fast  at  this  rate." 

"  Will  money  help  ?  You  know  I'm  ready  to  give 
to  the  hospital  any  time  —  any  amount  you  want." 

Doctor  Tom  smiled  his  old  wide-mouthed  friendly 
grin. 

"  Naturally  you  are,  Miss  Christmas.  I  can  al- 
ways count  on  you  every  time.  You  would  give 
your  last  red  cent  if  anybody  needed  it.  Thank 
Heaven  you  don't  come  into  the  bulk  of  your  prop- 
erty till  you  are  twenty-five.  You  would  have  made 
ducks  and  drakes  of  it  before  this  if  you  had  it  all. 
I  shall  tell  Gordon  to  keep  his  eye  on  the  purse 
strings  until  you  get  a  husband  to  do  it  for  you. 
You  have  such  dissipating  tendencies.  Don't 
wrinkle  your  nose  like  that.  You  shall  give  when 
the  time  is  ripe.  What  I  want  just  now  is  to  wring 
some  money  out  of  the  hides  of  some  of  these 
tough  old  Greendale  sinners  who  keep  their  religion 
with  their  prayer  books  in  the  family  pew  and  their 


110  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

brotherly  love  reduced  systematically  to  lowest  terms. 
The  apology  for  a  hospital  we  have  is  a  disgrace 
and  they  know  it  or  they  will  before  I  get  through 
with  'em.  There  isn't  even  a  children's  ward. 
Little  Allie  Wendell  died  last  week  to  the  tune  of 
Jake  Casey's  blasphemous  D.  T.  music.  Bah !  It's 
rotten." 

"Tom,  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't  shout  so.  I 
could  hear  you  clear  out  in  the  kitchen."  Thus 
Lois'  silver  cool  voice  fom  the  doorway,  contrast- 
ing oddly  with  her  husband's  vehement  ejaculatori- 
ness  which  still  filled  the  little  room.  "  Supper  is 
ready.  You'll  stay,  won't  you,  Sylvia?  I  will  be 
with  you  as  soon  as  I  can  get  Marjory  into  Tessy's 
hands  and  see  if  Junior  brushed  his  teeth.  He 
is  so  bad  these  days.  I  can't  trust  him  at  all." 

Sylvia  had  been  about  to  refuse  but  Doctor  Tom 
cut  her  short. 

"Of  course  you  will  stay.  You  haven't  been 
here  for  a  dog's  age.  Besides,  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  the  hospital  and  ask  what  you  think  about  — " 

"  Don't  start  to  talk  shop  now,"  ordered  Lois 
from  the  doorway,  with  small  Marjory's  head  bob- 
bing sleepily  over  her  shoulder.  "  The  omelet  will 
go  down." 

"  It  sure  will,"  promised  the  doctor.     "  I  feel  as 


Fire  and  Frost  111 

if  almost  anything  would  go  down  in  me  this  min- 
ute." 

"  That  is  the  trouble  with  Tom,"  smiled  Lois  to 
Sylvia.  "  He  doesn't  know  the  difference  between 
a  sublimated  souffle  and  plain  hash.  It  is  all  food 
to  him.  It  is  very  discouraging." 

Doctor  Tom  shook  his  head  as  the  door  closed 
upon  his  wife  and  daughter. 

"  If  only  she  wouldn't  fuss,"  he  groaned.  "  Syl- 
via, I  feel  like  a  beast  when  I  think  what  a  lot  this 
life  we  are  leading  takes  out  of  her.  If  only  she 
would  take  it  a  bit  easier.  She's  such  a  confounded 
perfectionist  every  blessed  thing  she  does  has  to  be 
just  right.  That's  why  it  uses  up  so  much  of  her." 

It  was  certainly  a  "  just  right  "  meal  to  which 
they  sat  down  a  few  moments  later.  Everything 
was  cold  which  should  have  been  cold,  everything 
hot  which  should  have  been  hot.  The  table  linen 
was  fine  and  dazzling  white,  the  silver  and  glass 
resplendently  bright  and  clean.  The  bowl  of  yellow 
chrysanthemums  made  a  perfect  centerpiece,  under 
the  pleasantly  shaded  glow  of  the  suspended  lamp. 
Lois  herself  was  exquisite  in  a  soft  clinging  gray 
gown  which  she  had  taken  the  time  to  slip  into 
while  she  had  been  upstairs  with  the  children.  Not 
a  fold  was  awry,  not  a  hair  out  of  place.  Serene 


112  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

and  low-voiced  and  deft-motioned,  she  served  per- 
fect tea  in  quaint  gold-banded  cups  from  a  green- 
dragoned  teapot. 

But  somehow  Sylvia  was  critical  in  her  judgment 
to-night.  The  very  perfectness  of  it  all  jarred  upon 
her.  She  couldn't  help  wondering  if  Lois  were  after 
all  the  consummate  artist  her  husband  acclaimed  her. 
Life  was  made  for  happiness  and  was  Lois  Daly 
happy  or  was  she  making  her  big-hearted,  splendid- 
souled  husband  happy?  Had  she  even  noticed  the 
tired  look  in  his  eyes  to-night,  the  droop  to  his 
shoulders?  In  her  conscientious  supervision  of 
Junior's  teeth  and  Majority's  bedtime  did  she  think 
or  care  at  all  about  the  Tommy  Currys  and  Allie 
Wendells  of  the  world  who  mattered  so  gravely  to 
her  husband  ?  The  two  loved  each  other  devotedly, 
Sylvia  knew,  yet  she  could  not  help  seeing  how  far 
apart  they  were  after  five  years  of  wedded  life.  It 
gave  one  food  for  thought. 

After  supper  Lois  excused  herself  to  do  some 
household  auditing. 

'  You  and  Tom  are  going  to  talk  hospital  any- 
way," she  added  to  Sylvia,  "  and  there  is  no  use  of 
my  listening  while  it  is  all  just  an  air-castle.  If  I 
had  that  on  my  mind  on  top  of  the  price  of  potatoes 
and  bacon  I  don't  know  what  would  happen." 


Fire  and  Frost  113 

"  Stay  and  rest  and  we'll  call  hospital  taboo," 
promised  Doctor  Tom.  "  Never  mind  the  old  ac- 
counts to-night." 

But  Lois  shook  her  head,  protesting  if  he  ran 
his  business  the  way  he  wanted  her  to  run  hers  they 
would  soon  end  in  the  poorhouse. 

"  Not  that  you  run  your  business  any  too  well, 
Tommy  dear,"  she  had  added.  "  You  are  a  scan- 
dalously poor  bill  collector.  Aren't  the  Williamsons 
ever  going  to  pay  ?  " 

"  Steve  Williamson's  down  with  pneumonia.  I 
can't  press  them  now." 

"  Pneumonia  on  top  of  twins !  They  are  unfor- 
tunate." And  Lois  left  the  room. 

Sylvia  dropped  her  eyes  quickly.  Intuitively  she 
knew  she  didn't  want  to  look  at  Doctor  Tom  just 
then.  He  made  no  comment  upon  his  wife's  part- 
ing speech  but  settled  down  in  the  big  armchair  with 
a  tired  grunt. 

"Mind  if  I  smoke?" 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  All  right,  here  goes."  He  took  one  or  two  long 
comforting  puffs  at  his  pipe.  "  Let's  side-track  the 
hospital  for  the  present.  Might  as  well  since  it's 
only  an  air-castle,  as  Lois  says.  I'm  a  bit  frazzled 
to-night.  Can't  seem  to  get  the  Curry  baby  off  my 


114  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

chest.  Suppose  you  play  something  instead.  Noth- 
ing too  classic  —  just  agreeable  and  anaesthetic." 

Sylvia  went  to  the  piano  and  sat  down.  Her 
fingers  drifted  into  a  nocturne.  Save  for  the  soft 
music  and  the  crackling  of  the  logs  on  the  hearth 
there  was  no  sound  in  the  room.  Tom  Daly  sat 
staring  into  the  leaping  flames  and  smoked  stolidly. 
It  would  have  made  an  appropriate  picture  for  a 
woman's  magazine  cover.  The  gracious,  comfort- 
able room,  the  tired  man,  basking  in  home  peace  and 
contentment  after  the  labor  and  stress  of  the  day; 
the  young  girl  at  the  piano,  with  healing  and  sym- 
pathy, wordless  but  no  less  apparent  in  her  finger 
tips.  Only  in  a  woman's  magazine  the  musician 
would  no  doubt  have  been  the  man's  wife.  Life 
is  sometimes  oddly  different  from  magazine  covers. 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  before  Lois  returned  to 
the  living-room.  She  paused  a  moment  on  the 
threshold. 

"Oh,  so  you  aren't  building  hospitals  after  all? 
Forgive  me  for  being  such  a  bad  hostess,  Sylvia. 
Was  that  Brahms?" 

Sylvia  shook  her  head  with  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  was,"  she  admitted. 
"  Something  I  heard  in  my  dreams  maybe.  Did  I 
put  you  to  sleep  Doctor  Tom?  " 


Fire  and  Frost  115 

"  No,  just  soothed  the  savage  in  me.  I  feel  fairly 
pacific  at  the  moment.  Don't  stop." 

"  Ah,  but  I  must.  Felicia  will  think  I  am  lost." 
She  rose  as  she  spoke  and  Doctor  Tom  rose  too. 
"  Don't  come,"  she  protested.  "  It  is  too  absurd 
when  it's  only  such  a  step." 

"It's  a  step  I  intend  to  take,"  he  grinned.  "If 
you  must  go,  I'm  at  your  service." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't,"  objected  Sylvia,  but  she 
let  him  wrap  her  long  moss  green  cloak  about  her 
and  in  a  moment  they  were  out  in  the  keen  Novem- 
ber air  under  the  stars.  Neither  said  anything  un- 
til they  were  at  the  steps  of  the  Hall.  Then  sud- 
denly Doctor  Tom  spoke. 

"  Sylvia,  how  did  you  know  I  had  the  blue  devils 
to-night  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Did  you  ?  "  parried  Sylvia.  There  was  some- 
thing different  about  Doctor  Tom  to-night ;  a  queer, 
tense  something  in  his  voice  she  wasn't  used  to. 

"  You  know  I  did.  You  played  to  'em  —  charmed 
'em,  as  I  said." 

"  I'm  glad,"  said  Sylvia.  "  Glad  I  charmed  them, 
I  mean.  You  need  a  rest,  Doctor  Tom.  You  are 
going  a  pace  that  would  kill  any  man  who  wasn't 
as  strong  as  an  ox." 

He  laughed  a  little  grimly. 


116  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Well,  Miss  Nestor,  any  more  sage  advice  to 
offer  your  grandfather?  Just  how  am  I  going  to 
shunt  the  world  I  happen  to  have  on  my  shoulders 
at  present?  " 

"  Just  drop  it  off.  You  could  if  you  had  to. 
Why  don't  you  and  Lois  go  on  a  vacation  ?  Felicia 
and  I  will  look  after  the  babies." 

"  Thanks,  Miss  Christmas.  That  is  like  you  and 
mighty  kind,  but  do  you  see  Lois  letting  anybody  — 
the  angel  Gabriel  himself  —  look  after  the  babies  for 
her?" 

"  She  might,"  dubiously. 

"  And  again  she  mightn't.  But,  aside  from  Lois, 
I  have  too  many  life  and  death  jobs  on  hand  at 
present  to  quit.  A  doctor's  no  business  to  get 
nerves.  He  ought  to  leave  that  to  his  patients. 
Anyway,  it  isn't  the  work  that  is  getting  me  just 
now,  it  is  the  damnable  futility  of  it  all.  The  Curry 
baby  is  a  symbol.  I'm  pouring  water  in  a  sieve, 
Sylvia,  and  that's  the  devil's  truth." 

"  It  isn't.  You  aren't,"  denied  Sylvia  quickly. 
'*  You  are  doing  miracles  every  day  of  your  life  and 
everybody  knows  it.  Doctor  Tom,  I  never  heard 
you  talk  like  that  before.  Don't.  It  makes  me 
feel  as  if  everything  were  tottering  on  its  founda- 
tions." 


Fire  and  Frost  117 

"  Sometimes  I  think  they  are  with  that  infernal 
senseless  war  going  on  over  there  after  all  our  peace 
prating.  Sylvia,  what's  it  all  for?  Where  are  we 
going  ?  What's  the  use  ?  " 

"  Everything's  the  use.  Maybe  we  can't  see  be- 
hind all  the  agony  and  blundering  but  there  must  be 
something  there  even  if  we  can't  see  it.  Why,  Doc- 
tor Tom,  there  must  be."  Sylvia's  eyes  were  ear- 
nest, her  face  uplifted  to  the  stars  lit  with  the  fine 
fires  of  youth's  faith.  Tom  Daly  shook  himself 
like  one  coming  out  of  a  trance.  He  was  suddenly 
ashamed  that  he,  the  strong  man,  had  been  outdis- 
tanced in  courage  by  the  slim  girl  before  him. 

"  Right  you  are,"  he  said  heartily.  "  There  must 
be.  It's  the  only  way  to  look  at  it.  Thank  you, 
Sylvia.  I  won't  bleat  again.  If  only  — "  But 
what  was  to  have  followed  that  sharp  wrung  "  if 
only  "  Sylvia  never  knew  for  suddenly  Tom  Daly 
crushed  both  her  hands  in  a  vicelike  grip  and  then 
turned  and  fled  with  a  gruff  "  good  night "  down 
the  path. 

In  his  own  yard  close  by  he  met  his  wife  placidly 
draping  a  blanket  over  a  rhododendron  bush. 

"  I  thought  there  might  be  a  frost  to-night,"  she 
observed,  and  her  tone  had  all  the  clear  crispness  of 
frost  in  it  as  she  spoke.  Tom  Daly  was  only  human. 


118  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

It  was  scarcely  strange  that  he  could  not  help  con- 
trasting his  wife's  voice  with  that  other  eager,  vi- 
brant, younger,  warmer  voice  he  had  just  heard, 
passionately  asserting  faith  in  that  something  be- 
hind all  the  miseries  and  misunderstandings  of 
things  without  which  life  were  indeed  scarcely  to 
be  endured. 

There  was  a  world  war  on.  Little  Jimmy  Curry 
lay  dead  unnecessarily.  Tom  Daly's  nerves  and 
courage  and  endurance  were  strained  all  but  to  the 
breaking  point.  And  his  wife  Lois  thought  there 
might  be  a  frost.  But  long  after  Tom  Daly  had 
fallen  into  the  heavy  sleep  of  complete  physical  ex- 
haustion Lois  lay  wide-eyed  and  sleepless,  staring 
into  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    MOTH    AND   THE   STAR 

THE  audience  settled  itself  into  place,  rattling  its 
programs,  prepared  idly  to  be  either  amused  or 
bored  as  the  opportunity  presented  itself,  mildly 
curious  as  to  the  personality  and  talent  of  the  young 
violinist  "  heard  for  the  first  time  in  this  country." 

"  They  say  he  used  to  be  old  man  Mclntosh's  office 
boy.  He  certainly  struck  it  soft.  Old  man's  worth 
near  a  million  they  say  and  this  darned  Dago'll  get 
it  all  I  suppose.  Some  folks  just  naturally  nab  the 
luck."  Thus  a  young  reporter  to  his  neighbor. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  I  can't  imagine  old 
Mclntosh  standing  for  this  fiddling  business.  He's 
a  husky  old  Puritan." 

"  Well,  he  did  stand  for  it  to  the  tune  of  quite  a 
pretty  price,  I  understand.  The  chap's  had  four 
years  of  Berlin  and  Dresden  and  the  rest  of  it. 
Some  mixture!  Italian  birth,  American  start, 
Scotch  bringing  up,  German  polish.  Whew! 

119 


120  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

Wonder  what  he's  like  with  all  that  in  him.  Talk 
about  your  melting  pots !  " 

"  There's  old  Mclntosh  in  the  box  now.  No,  the 
left.  Ugly  old  snoozer,  ain't  he?  But  brains. 
Gee!  He's  shrewd  as  they  make  'em.  Hello! 
Who's  the  dame?  Pretty  easy  to  look  at  it,  ain't 
she?" 

"  That's  Miss  Arden  —  lives  on  a  high  mucky 
muck  hill  out  in  Greendale.  She's  something  to  old 
Mclntosh.  Niece  maybe.  I  forget." 

"  No,  she  isn't  Old  man  used  to  be  bookkeeper 
for  her  father's  firm.  I  remember.  My  dad  knew 
'em.  Arden  and  Daly  —  big  cotton  concern. 
Arden  died  young.  Daly  lost  his  money  in  some 
railroad  slump  and  croaked  too.  Son's  a  doctor 
—  making  the  wires  hum  out  in  Greendale  about  a 
hospital  or  something.  So  that's  Miss  Arden. 
Engaged  to  young  Amidon,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  I  reckon.  Shut  up.  There  he  comes.  Gee ! 
He's  nothing  but  a  kid." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Gus,  appearing  on  the 
program  as  Gustavus  Niccolini,  did  look  very  much 
indeed  like  a  "  kid  "  as  he  came  across  the  stage 
and  made  a  shy,  stiff  little  bow  to  the  audience. 
Angus  Mclntosh  fidgeted  in  his  chair  and  cleared 
his  throat  irritably.  "Fool  to  let  him  try,"  he 


The  Moth  and  the  Star  121 

thought.  "  How  do  I  know  whether  he  can  play 
or  not?  What  if  he  can't?"  A  cold  perspiration 
stood  out  on  the  old  man's  forehead.  What  if  the 
boy  made  a  failure  of  the  thing?  What  if  the 
audience  smiled,  hissed  ?  Audiences  did  behave  like 
that  sometimes.  Why  hadn't  he  told  the  boy,  short- 
off,  long  ago,  he  shouldn't  try  it?"  Thus  he 
worked  himself  into  a  perfect  passion  of  apprehen- 
sion. But  in  the  midst  of  his  perturbation  Sylvia's 
hand  rested  on  his  knee  and  Sylvia's  eyes  smiled 
reassurance. 

"  It's  all  right,  Daddy  Mclntosh,"  she  whispered. 
"  Just  you  wait  till  they  hear  him." 

In  a  moment  they  did  hear  him  and  the  great  hall 
was  hushed  to  respectful  silence.  The  audience  had 
the  grace  to  recognize  a  master  touch  when  they 
heard  it.  Angus  Mclntosh  was  justified.  The  boy 
whom  he  had  plucked  out  of  a  den  of  squalor  and 
vice  was  an  artist,  and  the  grim  old  man  who  had 
had  a  hand  in  the  creation  had  been  something  of 
an  artist  at  the  job  himself.  As  for  Sylvia,  who 
was  behind  it  all,  she  hardly  breathed  until  the 
music  ceased.  She  listened  rapt  while  the  voice  of 
the  violin  sang  and  soared,  now  rapturous,  now 
tender,  now  triumphant,  now  dying  away  like  the 
note  of  a  wild  bird  in  the  night.  She  had  known 


122  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

before  that  Gus  could  play,  but  this  —  why  this 
was  a  thing  born  of  Heaven  to  which  she  listened 
reverently.  Finally  the  last  note  came  and  quivered 
into  silence.  There  was  an  instant's  hush  then  the 
applause  thundered.  The  boy  lifted  his  head 
quietly,  but  with  a  certain  grave  pride,  and  his  eyes 
sought  the  box  where  Angus  Mclntosh  and  Sylvia 
sat.  Then  suddenly  his  face  was  lit  with  a  light 
which  was  not  a  smile  but  an  enveloping  radiance 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  This  is  yours.  I  give  it  to 
you.  I  am  glad  it  is  worth  giving."  Then  he 
bowed  to  the  audience  and  the  applause  redoubled. 

Angus  Mclntosh  never  knew  much  about  the  rest 
of  that  program.  He  knew  it  went  on  and  the  ap- 
plause went  on,  that  the  boy  went  through  the  varied 
and  difficult  performance  with  ease  and  serenity 
and  simplicity,  but  what  he  was  playing  the  old 
man  never  knew.  It  might  have  been  "  Yankee 
Doodle  "  or  the  "  Cam'el's  are  Coming  "  for  all  he 
heard.  He  only  knew  the  thing  was  beautiful.  All 
the  remnants  of  still  lingering  prejudices  floated  off 
into  some  dim  cavern  where  such  limbo  is  stored 
or  annihilated.  There  was  a  place  in  the  world 
it  seemed  for  sheer  beauty.  Maybe  it  had  a  spiritual 
essence  all  its  own.  Anyway,  this  music  of  the  boy's 
seemed  oddly  connected  in  his  mind  with  the  psalms 


The  Moth  and  the  Star  123 

and  other  fine  old  religious  poetry  with  which  his 
mother  had  filled  his  mind  long  ago.  He  was 
humbly  glad  that  he  had  had  a  share  in  letting  loose 
this  thing  upon  the  world.  He  remembered  al- 
ways that  it  was  Sylvia  who  had  really  opened  the 
door.  Beauty  —  Kindness  —  Happiness  —  Love 
—  all  these  things  had  been  slipping  almost  beyond 
his  grasp  that  December  nearly  six  years  ago  when 
Sylvia  and  her  Christmas  family  had  brought  them 
back.  It  was  Sylvia  who  had  given  the  boy  to  him, 
Sylvia,  who  had  given  his  music  to  the  world  by 
making  himself  who  had  been  blind  see. 

The  concert  was  over  and  Herr  Bernsdorf,  Gus' 
old  music  teacher,  had  rushed  up  to  the  box  and  was 
pumping  Mr.  Mclntosh's  hand  up  and  down  violently 
with  inarticulate  croonings  and  mutterings  of  de- 
light and  congratulation.  "  Haf  I  not  told  you 
that  the  boy  was  a  genius?  Haf  I  not  said  it 
hundertmal?  I  knew.  I,  who  was  his  master,  I 
knew.  They  haf  done  well  by  him  over  there,  they 
haf  done  well.  But  somebody  else,  she  haf  done 
more  ?  Is  it  you,  mein  Fraulein  ?  "  He  turned  his 
flashing  little  black  eyes  on  Sylvia  as  he  asked  the 
question. 

"  I !  Oh,  no.  I  have  done  nothing,"  disclaimed 
Sylvia. 


124  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  No?  Maybe  it  is  another,  in  Berlin  or  Dresden 
or  elsewhere.  I  know  not.  I  only  know  the  boy 
haf  learned  to  play  like  that  from  luf.  Luf  haf 
taught  him.  Only  luf  learns  to  play  like  that. 
Ach !  Do  I  not  know  ?  " 

And  then  Gus  himself  stepped  into  the  box,  hav- 
ing gently  but  firmly  slipped  away  from  the  crowd 
which  would  have  waylaid  him. 

"  Did  you  like  it,  Daddy  Mclntosh  ?  "  he  asked 
playfully,  and  the  old  man  coughed  and  sputtered 
and  could  not  speak.  But  Gus  was  satisfied.  Even 
as  he  grasped  his  sponsor's  hand  the  boy's  eyes 
went  beyond  to  Sylvia,  who  had  purposely  stepped 
back.  Though  his  lips  said  nothing,  his  eyes  asked 
her  too,  "  Did  you  like  it,  Sylvia  ?  "  and  said  again 
what  they  had  proclaimed  from  the  stage.  "  It  is 
yours.  I  give  it  to  you." 

And  a  little  shiver  went  over  Sylvia  as  she  read 
the  boy's  eyes,  and  suddenly  she  felt  very  sad  and 
humble  and  a  little  ashamed  because  she  had  been 
so  blind.  She  knew  he  was  asking  nothing,  prob- 
ably never  would  ask  anything,  but  she  also  knew 
he  was  giving  something  very  precious,  something 
for  which  she  had  nothing  to  give  in  exchange. 
Mr.  Mclntosh,  absorbed  in  his  emotions,  did  not 
understand,  but  the  old  music  teacher  did. 


The  Moth  and  the  Star  125 

"  I  haf  said  it,"  he  thought  triumphantly.  "  I 
haf  had  right  It  was  luf  —  luf  and  no  other  who 
have  learned  the  boy  to  play  like  that  I  haf  heard 
it  from  his  fingers  and  now  I  haf  seen  it  in  his 
eyes.  And  by  and  by  he  will  play  efen  better,  for 
luf  will  also  learn  him  pain,  and  pain  he  is  the 
great  master.  He  it  is  who  learn  the  masters  them- 
selves. Haf  I  not  seen  it?  " 

Only  for  a  moment  Gus  had  let  his  eyes  be- 
tray him,  so  brief  an  interval  indeed  that  Sylvia 
thought  afterward  she  must  have  imagined  it 
so  naturally  did  she  and  the  young  man  find 
themselves  chatting  over  the  details  of  the  con- 
cert. 

But  later,  after  she  was  home  in  Greendale  and 
curled  comfortably  in  bed,  that  eloquent  look  from 
those  dark  eyes  came  back  and  would  not  let  her 
sleep. 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  thought  "Who  would  ever 
have  thought  it  of  Gus,  of  all  people?  I  thought 
he  was  just  wrapped  up  in  his  music.  Why  won't 
they  stay  friends?  It  is  so  discouraging  and  un- 
comfortable. There  is  no  end  to  the  trouble  it 
makes  when  they  begin  to  want  to  be  lovers.  Jack 
is  likely  to  come  any  minute  and  tell  me  what  a 
good  boy  he  is  and  demand  the  plums  out  of  the 


126  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

Christmas  pie.  I  don't  want  to  marry  any  of  them. 
I  don't.  I  don't.  So  there." 

But  even  as  she  snuggled  down  among  the  pillows 
she  heard  a  wee  distinct  little  voice  inside  her  some- 
where say  something  quite  different. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do,"  it  said.  "  You  want  to  marry 
Phil,  by  and  by,  way  off  in  the  future,  a  thousand 
years  from  now.  Only  he  doesn't  want  to  marry 
you,  and  that  is  what  makes  you  so  restless  and  dis- 
contented and  horrid.  That's  why  you've  been  flirt- 
ing with  Jack  and  —  yes,  Gus,  too,  in  a  demure, 
artistic  sort  of  way,  not  thinking  it  would  do  any 
harm  to  anybody.  And  even  Doctor  Tom  looked 
funny  at  you  the  other  night.  And  —  but  then 
it  is  all  Phil's  fault  —  so  you  needn't  worry." 

And  then  Sylvia  put  her  hands  over  her  ears,  for 
she  didn't  want  to  hear  any  more  of  that  kind  of 
talk. 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken,"  she  retorted  to  the 
disagreeable  little  voice.  "  I  haven't  been  flirting 
with  anybody.  Jack  and  Gus  are  both  good  friends 
and  I  can't  help  being  nice  to  them.  And  Doctor 
Tom  is  safe  and  married,  so  he  doesn't  count.  But, 
anyway,  I'll  be  careful  after  this  and  I  don't  want 
to  marry  anybody  —  not  anybody." 

And  down  in  the  near-by  city  the  young  violinist 


The  Moth  and  the  Star  127 

who  had  scored  such  a  success  that  the  papers  were 
already  writing  up  flattering  notices  about  him  sat 
in  his  room,  furiously  scribbling  poetry,  at  least 
that  is  what  he  would  probably  have  called  it, 
poetry  whose  theme  was  mostly  borrowed  from 
another  young  lover,  and  had  in  it  a  lot  about  the 
"desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star"  or  some  such 
rubbish.  Gus  was  very  young  yet  if  he  was  a  mas- 
ter violinist  and  Love  was  beginning  to  teach  him 
other  things  than  how  to  make  his  violin  sing.  But 
the  poetry  was  not  so  good  as  his  music  and  pres- 
ently he  pushed  aside  his  scribblings  in  disgust  and 
went  and  stood  by  the  window  looking  out  into  the 
night. 

It  had  been  raining  and  the  pavements  glistened 
in  the  light  reflected  from  the  arc-lamps.  And  sud- 
denly the  twinkling  lights  called  up  to  the  boy  the 
memory  of  a  Christmas  eve  when  he  had  followed 
Angus  Mclntosh  into  a  brilliantly  lighted  room  with 
a  wonderful  Christmas  tree  in  the  center,  such  a 
Christmas  tree  as  he  had  never  dreamed  of  in  his 
wildest  dreams.  And  then  he  forgot  the  tree  and 
remembered  Sylvia  smiling  kindly  at  him,  saying, 
"  Christmas  Family,  here  are  Mr.  Mclntosh  and 
Gus  Nichols.  Isn't  it  nice  they  could  get  here  to- 
night?" 


128  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

He  knew  now  that  the  desire  of  the  moth  for  the 
star  had  been  born  then  and  there,  only  it  wasn't 
even  a  desire,  it  was  just  a  worship. 

And  in  the  Oriole  Inn,  at  the  foot  of  Sylvia's 
Hill,  Hope  Williams  lay  asleep  with  Stephen  Kin- 
nard's  four  weeks'  old  letter  under  her  pillow,  and 
a  smile  on  her  lips,  for  she  was  dreaming  she  was 
back  in  the  garden  with  Stephen  sketching  her 
among  the  wistaria  vines.  But  Stephen  Kinnard 
was  having  a  very  amusing  and  profitable  time 
sketching  a  wild,  little  beauty  of  a  half  breed  on 
an  Arizona  desert  these  days  and  had  all  but  for- 
gotten such  a  person  as  Hope  existed.  But  never 
once  in  all  his  wanderings  did  he  forget  to  mail  a 
weekly  letter  to  Felicia  Emory,  who  had  rejected 
him  "  with  reasons." 

So  things  go  in  this  piquant  world  of  ours.  And 
there  is  much  truth  hidden  for  the  wise  in  the  depths 
of  the  "  Grecian  Urn." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   CITY 

BY  November  Barbara  had  become  so  accustomed 
to  the  city  that  she  no  longer  jumped  at  its  noises 
or  shrank  physically  from  its  crowds.  She  learned 
to  ignore  the  thunder  of  the  El  and  to  regard  the 
Subway  as  a  necessary  evil,  the  traffic  police- 
man a  very  present  help  in  time  of  trouble.  She 
even  learned  to  zigzag  deftly,  alone  and  unpro- 
tected, in  and  out  among  the  automobiles,  and  to 
calculate  on  the  chance  that  a  Fifth  Avenue  Bus 
driver  would  probably  prefer  not  to  run  her  down, 
other  things  being  equal. 

But  she  never  quite  made  friends  with  the  big, 
strange  city  —  the  Step-Mother  city  —  as  some  one 
has  called  it.  Always  it  seemed  to  hold  her  at  a 
distance,  perfectly  amicable  and  perfectly  imper- 
sonal. It  seemed  to  say  to  her  "  What  are  you  to 
me?  There  are  hundreds  —  yes,  thousands,  like 

you  in  my  gigantic  household.     Can  I  be  expected 

129 


130  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

to  care  for  you  each  as  individuals?  Watch  the 
motes  dancing  in  the  sunshine.  As  the  motes  to 
you  so  you  to  me.  Go  look  at  the  sands  shining  on 
the  beach  at  Coney.  As  the  grains  to  you  so  you  to 
me.  Let  your  eyes  follow  the  ripples  of  my  big 
river.  As  the  ripples  to  you  so  you  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  human  eddies  which  make  up  my  great 
tide  to  me." 

Yet  there  were  moments  when  Barb  felt  as  if 
she  had  almost  surprised  the  city's  secret,  caught 
it  unaware,  as  it  were,  and  half  ashamed,  slipping 
into  its  holy  of  holies.  Once  coming  over  on  the 
ferry  from  Jersey  City  she  had  scanned  the  great 
towers  and  buildings,  set  with  twinkling  lights  as 
with  many  jewels,  and  beheld  the  huge  bridges, 
across  which  an  endless  stream  of  traffic  passed  and 
repassed,  like  human  life  itself  in  its  unending  suc- 
cession. And  then  she  had  seemed  to  see  for  a  mo- 
ment what  the  city  really  meant.  Sordid,  material, 
menacing,  heartless  as  it  was  in  many  of  its  aspects 
did  it  not  after  all  cherish  a  big  vision?  Were  not 
those  very  towers  and  bridges  the  symbol  of  its 
restless  aspiration? 

Suddenly  above  it  all  had  risen  a  pale  lackadaisical 
looking  moon,  slipping  quietly  from  behind  a  smoke 
bank  to  look  down  at  the  seething  tumultuous  life  of 


The  City  131 

the  great  city.  To  Barb  the  moon  had  seemed  al- 
most to  smile,  a  world-weary,  somewhat  cynical 
smile  as  one  who  should  say  "  Go  on.  Keep  it  up. 
Burrow  and  build,  crush  and  create,  scream  and 
scuffle.  What  will  it  matter  a  million  years  hence? 
You  will  have  learned  by  then  to  be  cold  and  calm 
like  me." 

But  the  bridges  and  towers  had  mocked  the  moon 
and  defied  it.  "  We  are  wood  and  stone  and  steel," 
they  said.  "  We  may  crumble  and  fall  but  what 
we  stand  for  will  neither  crumble  nor  fall.  For 
we  are  the  symbol  of  man,  aspirant,  conquering  — 
a  spirit  which  shall  not  grow  cold  or  calm  while 
there  is  anything  in  life  to  which  to  aspire,  anything 
left  to  conquer.  We  are  nothing.  That  we  grant 
you,  Moon.  But  the  spirit  of  man  is  everything, 
yes,  even  God  himself,  God  passioning,  agonizing, 
ultimately  victorious." 

So  the  vision  came  to  little  Barb,  and  after  that 
she  was  not  afraid  of  the  city.  She  had  the  clew 
as  to  what  it  was  all  about.  It  whirred  and  rum- 
bled and  rushed  and  screeched  like  its  own  busses 
but  it  had  a  method  in  its  madness.  Like  the  busses, 
it  had  a  destination.  It  was  going  somewhere 
whether  it  knew  it  or  not. 

As  for  Barb's  own  little  life,  caught  in  the  whirl 


132  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

of  the  city's,  it  was  full  and  breathless  and  on  the 
whole  incredibly  agreeable.  She  typed  her  Aunt's 
eloquent  pro-suffrage  pamphlets  and  articles  and 
listened  with  rapt  eyes  and  eager  ears  to  her  Aunt's 
glowing  speeches  and  all  the  while  in  her  busy  brain 
the  meaning  of  this,  too,  was  gradually  dawning. 
At  first  it  had  been  like  a  confused,  jumbled  picture 
puzzle,  but  little  by  little  she  was  able  to  put  the 
pieces  together  into  their  proper  places.  She  was 
beginning  to  see  that  though  one  talked  a  great  deal 
about  the  woman  question  and  listened  to  a  great 
deal  about  the  woman  question,  there  was  really, 
after  all,  no  woman  question,  just  the  human  ques- 
tion —  the  human  questions. 

How  could  every  man  and  woman  and  child  in 
America  —  in  the  world  —  be  assured  enough  to 
eat  and  to  wear,  enough  and  not  too  much?  How 
could  each  have  leisure  to  play,  also  just  enough, 
neither  too  much,  nor  too  little  ?  How  was  each  to 
find  his  own  work,  neither  too  much  nor  too  little, 
but  the  right  work,  the  work  he  could  do  with  all 
his  heart,  not  for  the  payment,  though  that  must  be 
adequate,  but  for  the  zest  of  the  doing  itself,  that 
special,  personal  service  which  every  human  being 
should  be  God  endowed  and  man  fitted  to  perform? 
Above  all,  how  could  every  man,  woman  and  child  be 


The  City  133 

sure  of  happiness?  Since  she  had  come  to  the  city 
happiness  had  come  to  seem  a  very  fundamental 
thing,  perhaps  because  she  herself  was  so  happy, 
partly  also  because  she  was  so  sorry  for  the  rest 
who  were  not  happy.  And  so  few  of  them  seemed 
to  be  happy.  They  looked  complacent,  or  smug,  or 
well-fed,  or  blatantly  successful,  some  of  them,  but 
almost  none  looked  happy,  and  most  of  them,  it 
seemed  to  Barb,  looked  downright  miserable, 
haunted  and  hunted,  which  was  very  sad. 

Barb  herself  was  happy,  as  has  been  said.  In 
her  ignorance  and  innocence  she  supposed  her  hap- 
piness had  its  roots  in  the  fact  that  she  was  young 
and  healthy  and  busy  and  useful  and  interested  in 
her  work.  She  had  no  idea  that  her  happiness  was 
at  all  bound  up  in  the  other  fact  that  few  days 
passed  that  she  did  not  either  see  or  talk  over  the 
telephone  with  a  certain  rather  grave  but  very 
friendly  young  doctor  from  the  near-by  clinic, 
who  was  also  interested  in  getting  at  the 
secret  of  the  city,  especially  in  trying  to  pluck 
out  the  heart  of  its  physical  miseries,  fighting  the 
seemingly  futile  battle  with  filth  and  disease  and 
ignorance  and  vice  and  their  sad  consequences,  at- 
tacking the  Augean  stables  of  the  city  with  the  en- 
ergy of  a  Hercules,  though  there  was  no  magic 


134  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

stream  to  turn  to  his  aid  except  the  magic  stream 
of  youth  and  courage  and  determination  and  faith, 
which  was,  after  all,  a  fairly  efficient  substitute. 

And  if  sometimes  when  there  was  a  silence  be- 
tween the  two  young  people  and  Barb's  heart  was 
almost  overbrimming  with  a  wistful,  half -conscious 
joy  in  things  as  they  were,  she  did  not  know  that 
the  grim  set  to  Phil's  mouth  and  the  tired  look  in 
his  eyes  was  due  to  the  fact  that  his  Faraway 
Princess  was  looking  particularly  far  off  just  then 
and  that  he  was  all  but  oblivious  of  the  presence  of 
the  contented  little  Beggar-Maid  quite  within  hail- 
ing distance.  So  much  for  Fools'  Paradises  where 
Youth  lives  from  preference  and  for  Nature  go- 
ing quietly  about  her  business  in  the  back- 
ground ! 

The  city  had  its  way  with  Suzanne,  too,  and 
though  she  loved  it  better  than  Barb,  it  treated  her 
less  genially.  Suzanne  worked  hard  and  hopefully. 
The  click  of  her  typewriter  resounded  faithfully 
by  night  and  day.  But,  somehow,  her  plays  and 
stories  did  not  sell.  The  arrival  of  the  mails  with 
the  persistently  returning  long  envelopes  was  a 
daily  agony.  She  got  to  know  all  the  hateful  plati- 
tudinous variations  of  the  printed  slip  "  Does  not 
necessarily  imply  lack  of  merit,"  "  Not  exactly 


The  City  135 

suited  to  the  needs  of  the  magazine,"  and  so  on. 
How  she  detested  the  smug,  smooth,  complacency 
of  those  printed  formulae !  How  she  hugged  to  her 
heart  the  occasional  kindly,  personal  notes  of  the 
compassionate  editors  who  salved  the  pain  of  re- 
jection by  a  brief  word  or  two  of  encouragement 
or  advice.  But,  alas,  these  favors  were  as  few  as 
they  were  precious ! 

The  plays  fared  no  better.  The  managers  smiled 
unctuously  upon  her  prettiness  when  Suzanne 
bearded  them  in  their  dens.  Some  of  them  even 
patted  her  on  the  shoulder  and  told  her  her  work 
was  "  promising,"  and  advised  her  by  all  means  to 
keep  at  it.  But  there  was  always  some  thoroughly 
excellent  reason  why  they  could  not  take  the  par- 
ticular play  or  sketch  she  had  to  offer  and  she  had 
eventually  to  retreat  from  the  dens,  one  after  the 
other,  sore,  indignant,  but  more  doggedly  deter- 
mined than  ever  to  storm  the  citadel. 

In  the  meanwhile  Aunt  Sarah's  little  legacy 
dwindled  until  it  became  a  mere  shadow  of  itself. 
It  had  never  been  very  portly  at  the  best  of  times, 
and  living  in  the  Village  is  deceptively  expensive. 
By  the  first  of  December  Suzanne  moved,  taking 
with  her  her  "  Factory  re-built,"  which  skipped  a 
few  letters  for  variety's  sake  now  and  then,  but  was, 


136  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

on  the  whole,  very  dependable.  Certainly  it  could 
be  depended  upon  to  turn  out  manuscript  which 
would  return  with  automatic  precision  after  the 
briefest  allotment  of  days.  Suzanne  informed 
Barb  about  this  time  over  the  telephone  that  it  was 
incomparably  more  picturesque  to  be  living  over  a 
fruit  vender's  shop  in  the  Alley  than  it  was  to  in- 
habit a  mere  studio.  It  gave  you  loads  of  "  copy." 
Miss  Murray  looked  meditative  when  her  niece  re- 
ported this  new  viewpoint  on  Suzanne's  part  and 
suggested  that  that  young  lady  be  invited  to  take 
supper  with  them  at  an  early  date,  to  which  Barbara 
joyfully  acquiesced.  She  felt  that  she  had  seen  too 
little  of  Suzanne  of  late.  Suzanne  accepted  and 
Barb  looked  at  her  very  critically  and  accused  her 
of  working  herself  to  death  and  getting  great  dark 
circles  under  her  eyes. 

But  Suzanne  only  shrugged  and  asserted  that 
work  agreed  with  her  and  sent  up  her  plate  for  more 
salad,  apologizing  for  her  appetite  on  the  score  of 
having  been  so  busy  at  lunch  time  she  had  forgotten 
to  eat  any. 

"  Oh,  you  genii !  "  laughed  Barb  reproachfully,  but 
Miss  Josephine  Murray  vouchsafed  her  guest  a  keen 
scrutiny  which  Suzanne  perceiving,  straightway 
rattled  off  a  lot  of  voluble  enthusiasm  about  the  de- 


The  City  137 

lights  of  the  "  Dutch  Oven  "  and  other  Bohemian 
eating-places. 

Later,  Phil  Lorrimer  dropped  in  and  took  the 
girls  to  a  show.  He,  too,  looked  rather  hard  at 
Suzanne  later  when  they  were  having  innocuous 
sandwiches  and  beer  at  a  little  German  restaurant. 
Phil  and  Barb  escorted  Suzanne  home  to  her  alley 
but  she  would  not  let  them  come  in,  protesting  that 
it  was  too  late  and  she  didn't  want  to  ruin  her  repu- 
tation with  Giovanni  and  Pepita  downstairs,  who 
were  very  proper  people. 

On  the  Bus  Phil  turned  to  Barb  to  ask  a  rather 
odd  question. 

"  Roger  Minot  been  in  town  lately  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  Suzanne  wouldn't  let  him 
see  her  if  he  did  come.  Why?  " 

"  I  just  wondered.  Suzanne  is  looking  a  little 
peaked,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  Dreadful,"  sighed  Barb.  "  Suzanne  is  such  a 
fiend  for  work.  She  owned  up  to  forgetting  to  eat 
any  luncheon  to-day  she  was  so  interested  in  what 
she  was  doing.  I'm  afraid  she  forgets  rather 
often." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,"  agreed  Phil.  He  had  seen 
more  than  one  young  man  and  young  woman,  too, 
for  that  matter,  who  had  developed  that  convenient 


138  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

kind  of  memory  about  food  in  the  city  when  pockets 
were  empty.  He  shrewdly  suspected  that  Suzanne 
was  "  up  against  it "  in  his  own  parlance.  He  had 
made  a  fair  diagnosis  of  her  case  in  the  garish 
lights  of  the  German  restaurant.  "  Overwork,  un- 
derfeeding, devilish  desperation.  Something  sure 
to  snap  soon."  Thus  he  summed  the  matter  up  men- 
tally, for  he  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  alarm 
Barb  about  her  friend's  situation,  since  she  was  so 
obviously  unsuspecting.  He  knew  Suzanne  would 
brook  no  help  nor  pity.  "  Proud  as  Lucifer,  of 
course,"  he  thought.  But  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
keep  his  eye  on  Suzanne,  as  he  put  it. 

To  that  end  he  made  his  way  to  the  Village  a 
few  evenings  later,  found  from  Giovanni  that  Su- 
zanne was  out  and  discovered  her,  for  himself 
shortly,  sitting  in  a  bench  on  the  Square,  looking 
pinched  and  blue  about  the  lips.  Phil  Lorrimer  was 
a  very  direct  person  and  usually  went  straight  for 
any  goal  he  had  in  sight.  He  finally  succeeded  in 
wringing  the  truth  out  of  Suzanne.  She  had  not 
sold  a  story  since  she  came  to  New  York  or 
"  landed  "  a  play.  Her  money  was  all  but  gone  and 
she  had  been  living  on  one  meal  a  day  for  a  week 
past. 

"  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  I'm  a  rotten  failure. 


The  City  139 

That's  what  I  can't  stand."  And  Suzanne  had 
clenched  her  fist  in  her  shabby  little  glove  and  set 
her  white  teeth  together  sharply.  "  I  won't  give 
up.  I  tell  you  I  won't.  I  won't  go  home  and  I 
won't  ask  'em  for  a  cent.  I  won't  let  'em  say,  '  I 
told  you  so.'  I  won't.  I  won't.  Phil  Lorrimer,  if 
you  dare  to  hint  one  word  of  what  I've  told  you 
to-night  to  Rog  —  er  —  to  my  people,  I'll  borrow 
a  stiletto  of  Giovanni  and  ram  it  clean  through  you. 
What  did  you  ever  make  me  tell  you  for,  anyway  ? 
You  hadn't  any  business  to.  I  hate  you ! "  And 
with  an  ejaculation  somewhere  between  a  snarl  and 
a  sob,  Suzanne  had  turned  and  fled  away  from  him 
into  the  night. 

But  it  had  not  taken  Phil's  long  legs  many  seconds 
to  be  up  with  her  again. 

"  See  here,  Suzanne,"  he  urged.  "  Don't  take 
it  like  that.  My  knowing  doesn't  count.  Doctors 
and  priests  are  dumb  as  the  grave.  I  won't  peach, 
but  do  let  me  help  you  over  the  bad  spot.  I  haven't 
much  myself,  as  you  know,  but  I'd  be  glad  to  ease 
you  along  a  bit  if  you'll  let  me,  man  to  man." 

Suzanne  smiled  an  April  smile  at  him. 

"  Man  to  man,  you  are  a  darling,  Phil  Lorrimer. 
I'd  let  you  help  me  if  I'd  let  any  one  but  I  won't. 
My  pride's  all  I  have  left,  and  I'm  going  to  hang  on 


140  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

to  that  like  grim  death.  Don't  you  worry.  I  know 
what  I  can  do  and  I'm  going  to  do  it." 

"  What  ?  "  Phil  was  somewhat  dubious  about 
the  sudden  flush  on  Suzanne's  cheeks,  the  sparkle  in 
her  eyes. 

She  shook  her  head,  mischief  written  in  every  line 
of  her  thin,  pretty,  piquant  face. 

" '  Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest  chuck, 
Till  you  applaud  the  deed,' " 

she  quoted  gayly.  "  It  is  much  better  you  shouldn't 
now.  I'm  not  even  going  to  tell  Barb.  She  will 
only  be  informed  that  I  am  out  of  town  with  friends. 
My  esteemed  parents  and  dear  Roger  will  hear  the 
same.  Your  job  is  to  sit  tight  and  know  nothing. 
You  won't  be  responsible.  Your  skirts  —  I  mean 
your  coat-tails  —  will  be  entirely  clear." 

"  Suzanne,  I've  half  a  mind  to  telegraph  your 
father  this  minute  —  or  Roger.  Maybe  it  would  be 
better  to  summon  Roger."  He  eyed  her  sternly. 

Suzanne  giggled  wickedly. 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  dear  Dumb 
as  the  Grave.  I  have  your  sacred  oath  not  to 
peach." 

"  Let  me  off,  Suzanne,"  he  begged.  "  Honest, 
I'm  worried  about  you.  You  look  wild.'" 


The  City  141 

But  Suzanne  only  laughed  again,  and  assured  him 
she  was  saner  than  the  statue  of  Liberty. 

"  Let  you  off  nothing,  dear  sir,"  she  added  for 
good  measure.  "  But  please  don't  fret.  I  assure 
you  I  am  not  going  to  do  a  thing  either  desperate  or 
immoral.  I'm  going  on  a  lark,  that  is  all.  You 
can't  down  Suzanne.  Like  Ivory  Soap  —  it  floats. 
Here  we  are  at  my  alley.  My  fruit  stand's  just  be- 
yond. Shake  hands  like  a  good  boy  and  wish  me 
luck.  Don't  frown  like  that.  It  spoils  your  leonine 
beauty.  Good  night  —  and  good-by."  And,  before 
he  could  speak,  Suzanne  had  darted  into  her  own 
doorway  leaving  Phil  staring  rather  ruefully  after 
her. 

"  Now  what  in  time  or  eternity  is  she  up  to  ?  "  he 
pondered.  "  She  isn't  the  kind  to  play  the  fool  to 
any  great  extent.  Got  too  much  head  and  too  little 
heart.  I  may  as  well  let  her  gang  her  own  gait. 
She's  bound  to  anyway.  Poor  old  Roger!  She  is 
certainly  leading  him  a  trail.  Wouldn't  he  curse  me 
for  letting  her  make  a  getaway  like  this  if  he  knew? 
Out  of  town  with  friends !  "  he  muttered  as  he  de- 
scended into  the  depths  of  the  subway.  "  I'd  like 
to  see  the  friends.  And  if  I  were  Rog  Minot,  I 
would  too,  or  know  the  reason  why." 

Thus  satisfactorily  can  one  young  man  sum  up 


142  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

the  whole  duty  of  another  in  a  recreant  courtship 
though  remaining  as  helpless  and  inefficient  as  a  new- 
born infant  in  the  management  of  his  own. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MARGINS 

"  HELLO,  Jack!  I  had  no  idea  you  were  home." 
Sylvia,  rosy  and  blown  from  a  spin  behind  Doctor 
Tom's  frolicsome  black  mare,  entered  the  living- 
room  at  Arden  Hall,  bringing  with  her  a  whiff  of 
fresh  outdoor  air.  She  threw  down  her  muff  and 
held  out  a  welcoming  hand  to  her  guest  who  had 
been  waiting  her  return. 

"  Bad  penny,  you  know."  Jack  captured  both 
hands  instead  of  the  one  vouchsafed  as  he  spoke. 
"  Can't  leave  business  very  long,  you  see."  His  eyes 
twinkled  mischievously  as  he  looked  down  at  Syl- 
via, making  shameless  bid  for  her  favor.  Sylvia 
laughed,  but  she  withdrew  her  hands  and  shook  her 
head  at  him. 

"  You  are  a  dreadful  fraud,  Jack.  You  don't 
really  care  such  a  lot  about  the  business  all  at  once. 
You  know  you  don't." 

"  Not  a  tinker's  dam,"  he  shrugged.  "  Whatever 
that  may  be." 

143 


144  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Then  why  — "  began  Sylvia  and  stopped. 

"There  is  only  one  why,  young  lady,  and  you 
know  it." 

Sylvia  frowned  and  jabbing  out  her  hatpins  a 
little  irritably,  tossed  her  black  velvet  toque  on  the 
table.  She  had  already  removed  her  coat  and  furs 
and  stood,  trim  and  tailored,  in  her  simple  blue 
serge  dress;  a  simplicity  which  was  exceedingly  be- 
coming and  likewise  extremely  expensive  as  Jack's 
approving  gaze,  sweeping  the  lithe  young  curves  of 
her  figure,  knew  very  well. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't,  Jack." 

"  Wouldn't  what?  "  blandly. 

"  Wouldn't  work  —  just  because  I  want  you  to. 
It  is  so  horribly  like  a  bribe." 

"  It  is  a  bribe." 

"  Then  I  don't  like  it.  I  told  you  I  didn't  promise 
anything." 

"  And  I  told  you  I  didn't  expect  anything.  You 
can't  blame  a  fellow  for  putting  all  the  eggs  he  can 
find  into  his  basket." 

"  Put  all  the  eggs  you  like  into  the  basket,  only 
don't  blame  me  if  they  get  smashed.  Sometimes, 
Jack,  I  think  you  don't  really  want  to  marry 
me  at  all  —  you  just  want  the  fun  of  pursuing 
me." 


Margins  145 

"  Maybe  so,"  agreed  Jack  so  amicably  that  Sylvia 
lifted  her  eyebrows  at  him.  "  I  was  brought  up 
never  to  contradict  a  lady." 

Sylvia  laughed  at  that  and  sat  down,  running  her 
hand  over  her  hair,  to  brush  back  its  turbulent  rip- 
ple, a  gesture  Jack  loved  because  it  was  so  inter- 
woven with  his  mental  pictures  of  her. 

"  Let's  not  discuss  ourselves,"  she  added.  "  Tell 
me  the  news.  Did  you  see  Barb  and  Suzanne  ?  " 

"  I  saw  Barb.     Suzanne  has  fled  the  coop." 

"What?" 

"  The  report  is  she  is  out  of  town,  traveling  with 
friends.  Barb  looks  worried  and  Phil  looks  wise 
but  neither  has  much  to  say." 

"  Does  Phil  know  where  she  is  ?  " 

"  He  says  not,  but  he  knows  something,  or  I 
miss  my  guess.  Not  that  the  old  oyster  would  open 
up  his  shell  a  fraction  of  an  inch  even  to  oblige 
yours  truly.  I  pried  like  a  good  one  but  to  no 
purpose.  Talk  about  your  professional  secrecy! 
Phil's  got  it  down  to  the  finish.  The  old  chap  is 
different  somehow,  older  and  solemn  as  a  fish. 
Horrible  example  of  what  work  will  do  to  a  fel- 
low !  "  he  grinned. 

Sylvia  stooped  to  pick  up  the  tongs  and  stir  the 
fire,  which  was  smoldering  a  little  sulkily  on  the 


146  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

hearth.  Out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye  Jack  watched 
her. 

"  He  and  Barb  seem  to  be  remarkably  good  pals," 
he  continued.  "  The  Aunt  orders  him  about  like 
a  member  of  the  family.  Don't  wonder  he  obeys. 
That  woman  is  a  general.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised 
if  she  took  the  vote  away  from  the  men  and  gave 
it  to  the  women  any  day,  if  she  took  the  notion. 
Lucky  she  and  Napoleon  didn't  hitch  their  wagons 
to  the  same  star  in  the  same  generation.  The  star 
would  have  dragged  Aunt  Josephine  and  ditched 
the  emperor,  that's  certain." 

"  Do  stop  talking  nonsense,  Jack,  and  tell  me  more 
about  Suzanne." 

Sylvia's  voice  had  a  faint  edge  of  sharpness  to 
it  as  if  a  little  of  the  grim  December  wind  outside 
had  gotten  into  it. 

"  I  don't  know  any  more.  I've  told  you  all  that 
is  generally  published.  Even  Norton,  Pa.,  gropes 
in  middle  darkness.  She  didn't  even  write  to 
Roger  it  seems.  He  is  in  bad.  Had  the  temerity 
to  propose  to  her  again  just  after  she  had  emerged 
with  a  bundle  of  manuscripts  from  a  manager's 
office,  which  wasn't  a  tactful  moment,  I  gather.  She 
consigned  him  to  the  devil  or  some  feminine  equiva- 
lent thereof,  apparently.  Pa  and  Ma  knows  she's 


Margins  147 

traveling.  Had  cards  from  Buffalo  and  Cleveland, 
I  understand.  Pa's  excited  and  Ma's  took  to  her 
bed.  Looks  as  if  they  feared  the  worst." 

"Jack!" 

"  Sorry.  I  was  only  joking,  of  course.  Trust 
Suzanne  to  take  care  of  herself.  She  is  all  right. 
Roger  is  having  a  fit  or  two  though,  and  no  won- 
der." 

"  Serves  him  right.  Why  didn't  he  go  and  marry 
her  and  not  let  her  go  off  on  a  tangent  like  that?  " 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  "  murmured  Jack.  "  It  is  so 
hanged  easy  to  marry  a  girl  when  she  won't  have 
you !  Give  me  the  good  old  cave  days.  You  could 
knock  your  bride  down  with  a  club  if  she  objected. 
Then,  when  she  came  to,  she  would  get  up  and  grin 
at  her  noble  master  and  string  some  red  berries 
round  her  neck,  or  stick  a  ring  in  her  nose,  to  en- 
hance her  charms,  and  everything  would  be  entirely 
agreeable." 

"  Jack,  you  are  perfectly  horrid  to-day.  I  wish 
you  had  stayed  in  New  York.  How  is  Jeanette?  " 
Sylvia  changed  the  subject  severely. 

"  Going  the  pace,  as  usual.  Good  Lord,  Sylvia, 
what  do  you  suppose  a  woman  wants  to  live  the 
kind  of  life  she's  elected  for?  I  like  a  good  time 
myself.  It's  a  family  trait.  But  she  goes  as  if  all 


148  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

the  devils  of  Hell  were  loose  and  after  her.  Maybe 
they  are,  after  a  fashion.  See  here,  Sylvia,  aren't 
you  going  up  to  see  her  soon?  " 

"  After  Christmas.     Why  ?  " 

"  Nothing  especial.  I  thought  a  dose  of  you 
might  be  good  for  her,  that  is  all." 

And  that  was  all  the  explanation  that  Sylvia  ex- 
tracted on  that  subject,  though  she  guessed  that  there 
was  more  than  Jack  admitted  behind  his  rather 
enigmatic  remarks.  Jack  was  incredibly  clear- 
sighted about  some  things,  and  it  was  evident  he  saw 
cause  to  worry  about  his  sister  Jeanette,  even  to  the 
extent  of  hurrying  Sylvia  to  New  York  where  he 
himself  could  not  follow  unless  he  turned  back  the 
page  of  the  virtuous  new  leaf  of  his  devotion  to  busi- 
ness. There  was  a  puzzle  behind  it  somewhere, 
Sylvia  knew.  She  also  knew  she  was  going  to  be 
left  to  discover  the  exact  nature  of  the  puzzle  for 
herself. 

Sc  December  went  its  way.  Suzanne  continued 
mysteriously  "traveling  with  friends."  Barb  and 
Phil  kept  hard  at  work  in  the  city  and  managed  to  see 
a  good  deal  of  each  other  in  their  off  hours.  Sylvia 
and  Phil  had  almost  ceased  to  write  to  each  other, 
though  there  was  no  open  break  in  their  friendship. 
It  was  rather  that  a  wall,  intangible  but  unsurmount- 


Margins  149 

able,  had  risen  between  them,  as  perhaps  it  had,  for 
pride  is  a  mightier  barrier  than  a  mountain  peak 
sometimes.  Gus  went  his  quiet,  successful  way  on 
his  concert  tour,  refusing  politely  but  conclusively  to 
be  made  a  lion  of,  keeping  rather  to  himself  in  his 
leisure  hours,  living  on  his  unspoken  dreams  and 
managing  to  get  a  great  deal  of  pure  happiness  out 
of  his  star  worship.  To  Sylvia's  delightv  and  al- 
most to  Felicia's  consternation,  the  latter's  designs 
for  a  mural  relief,  which  Stephen  Kinnard  had  fairly 
bullied  her  into  submitting  in  a  competition,  had  been 
accepted  and  she  was  hard  at  work  on  the  actual 
modeling  these  brief  winter  days,  though  she  found 
time,  Felicia  fashion,  to  be  an  excellent  "  Home- 
keeper  "  and  Mother  along  with  the  other  task. 

Early  in  November  Lois  Daly  had  rather  aston- 
ishingly announced  her  intention  of  "  doing  some 
writing  "  as  she  put  it  rather  vaguely.  Lois  was  al- 
ways reticent,  especially  about  her  literary  work,  and 
even  her  husband  asked  no  questions,  realizing-  it 
suited  her  better  to  be  let  alone  to  work  out  her  pur- 
pose for  herself.  She  was  far  too  conscientious 
about  her  other  duties  to  neglect  any  of  them  and  it 
was  consequently  the  long  evenings  when  the  chil- 
dren were  in  bed  and  the  household  affairs  quiescent 
that  she  found  most  profitable  for  her  new  work. 


150  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

This  arrangement  was  admirable  in  all  but  two  re- 
spects. It  made  Lois'  working  day  an  almost  im- 
possibly long  one  and  left  her  a  little  too  weary  for 
restful  sleep  when  she  did  finally  creep  into  bed.  It 
also  curtailed  almost  to  a  minimum  the  moments 
which  she  had  to  spare  for  her  husband's  society, 
which  had  been  all  too  few  even  before  the  advent  of 
this  new  era.  Doctor  Tom  made  no  protest  as  to 
this.  He  was  always  over-sensitive  to  the  sacrifice 
of  her  work  which  Lois  had  made  for  him  and  his, 
but  he  did  beg  her  at  times  not  to  "  bother  "  so  much 
about  the  house  and  the  children  and  himself. 

But  Lois  always  shook  her  head  at  his  pleas  and 
explained  quietly  that  he  and  the  house  and  the 
children  were  her  real  job  and  she  could  not  neglect 
them  for  the  other.  And  if  Tom  Daly  found  it  in 
his  heart  to  wonder  sometimes  if  his  wife's  "  real 
job  "  did  not  include  a  little  closer  companionship 
with  himself  he  never  voiced  his  wondering.  He 
was  no  "  martyr,"  as  he  had  once  long  ago  pro- 
tested to  Sylvia. 

But  human  relations  are  never  static  and  while 
Lois  shut  herself  in  her  den  and  wrote  feverishly, 
night  after  night,  her  husband,  being  only  human, 
easily  drifted  into  the  habit  of  finding  elsewhere 
than  at  his  own  home  the  companionship  and  sym- 


Margins  151 

pathy  which  even  the  strongest  and  most  independ- 
ent of  men  half -consciously  crave.  Arden  Hall  and 
Sylvia  were  close  at  hand  and  it  was  almost  inevitable 
that  he  should  find  his  way  to  the  two  rather  often. 
Sylvia  was  intensely  interested  in  all  his  schemes  for 
the  hospital  and  other  altruistic  visions  which  made 
up  a  very  large  part  of  his  wide,  busy  career.  Often 
they  talked  eagerly  for  hours,  either  with  or  without 
Felicia's  presence.  Oftener  still  Tom  Daly  would 
sit  and  smoke  in  contented  silence  while  Sylvia 
played  soft  music  or  read  aloud  out  of  some  maga- 
zine stories  which  let  his  mind  rest  instead  of  wres- 
tle. 

It  was  all  the  most  natural,  even  inevitable  devel- 
opment. The  two  were  old  friends.  Tom  Daly 
was  thirty-eight  and  happily  married.  Sylvia  Arden 
was  twenty-two  questing  for  experience  innocently 
enough.  There  was  no  one  to  question  or  warn,  or 
indeed,  anything  to  question  or  warn  against.  Yet 
there  sat  Nature  spinning  away  at  her  web  all  the 
time  and  Tom  Daly  and  Sylvia  were  near  to  being 
caught  in  the  mesh,  without  even  knowing  there  was 
any  mesh.  And  the  danger  for  Tom  Daly  as  it  hap- 
pened was  considerably  greater  than  for  Sylvia  just 
because  he  was  a  man.  Man  is  the  so-called  reason- 
ing sex,  but,  as  has  been  more  than  once  noted,  sex 


152  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

is  the  one  subject  upon  which  he  will  not  reason. 
And  so  things  slipped  easily  and  pleasantly  along  up 
to  Christmas  time. 

It  was  Jack  Amidon  who  involuntarily  opened 
Sylvia's  eyes  by  uttering  an  unusually  sharp  protest 
that  she  went  nowhere  any  more,  either  with  him  or 
any  one  else,  but  just  sat  in  the  chimney  corner  and 
played  Joan  to  Tom  Daly's  Darby.  "  And  soon 
there'll  be  the  deuce  to  pay  whether  you  know  it  or 
not,"  he  had  added  darkly. 

Of  course  Sylvia  had  flared  out  in  quick  anger  at 
his  implications. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Jack  Amidon,  by  saying  such 
horrid  things  ?  "  she  had  stormed.  "  It  is  perfectly 
ridiculous.  Doctor  Tom  is  years  and  years  older 
than  I  am.  He  is  just  like  a  brother." 

Jack  had  seen  the  brother  dodge  worked  before 
and  said  so  somewhat  caustically,  whereupon  Sylvia 
lost  what  little  temper  she  had  left,  and  having  de- 
livered a  volley  of  violent  wrath  upon  her  guest's 
imprudent  head,  shot  out  of  the  room,  leaving  him 
to  enjoy  the  hospitality  of  the  Hall  in  solitude  or  beat 
a  retreat  as  pleased  him  best. 

Meanwhile,  upstairs  in  her  own  room,  Sylvia 
threw  herself  on  the  bed,  and,  first  of  all,  woman 
fashion,  relieved  her  feelings  by  indulging  in  a  good 


Margins  158 

old-fashioned  "  weep,"  her  anger  dissipating  with 
her  tears.  Presently  she  sat  up  and  began  to  take 
stock  of  the  situation  and  herself,  and  found  to  her 
consternation  that  things  as  they  actually  were,  were 
about  as  safe  as  a  child  with  a  box  of  matches  in  a 
haymow. 

She  was  a  perfectly  clear-eyed  and  sophisticated 
young  woman  and  when  her  attention  was  called, 
however  brutally,  to  the  fact  that  you  cannot  see  a 
man,  night  after  night,  week  after  week,  as  she  had 
been  seeing  Tom  Daly,  without  there  being  at  least 
the  possibility  of  the  "  deuce  to  pay,"  as  Jack  had 
bluntly  expressed  it,  she  was  willing  to  acknowledge 
the  fact  to  herself  at  least.  She  carefully  analyzed 
her  own  mental  processes  for  the  past  few  weeks  and 
discovered  to  her  surprise  and  some  chagrin  that 
she  had  been  ruthlessly  cutting  out  engagements  in 
which  Tom  Daly  did  not  figure,  and  eagerly  making 
those  in  which  he  did  figure,  that  she  had  deliber- 
ately plunged  into  everything  that  interested  him, 
Red  Cross  work,  the  new  hospital,  the  needs  of  some 
of  his  poorer  patients ;  everything,  in  short,  that  he 
cared  about  heartily.  She  even  had  to  admit  to  her- 
self that  she  had  been  a  little  complacent  and  self 
righteous  in  her  genuine  interest  and  sympathy  with 
these  things  because  she  resented  Lois  Daly's  apathy 


154  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

in  the  matter  and  felt  profoundly  sorry  for  Doctor 
Tom.  She  discovered  that  it  is  not  prudent  in  the 
world  as  it  is  lived  to  be  too  sorry  for  another 
woman's  husband.  That  way  danger  lies,  and  a 
signboard  to  that  effect  is  in  order.  Beyond  this, 
however,  Sylvia  knew  she  had  little  for  which  to 
blame  herself.  She  was  not  a  deliberate  coquette. 
She  had  acted  in  all  simplicity  and  naturalness,  but 
there  had  been  a  risk  to  the  experiment  for  all  that 
and  she  was  a  bit  ashamed  of  her  hitherto  state  of 
blindness. 

Being  a  very  honest  young  person,  Sylvia  sat 
down,  as  soon  as  she  had  threshed  the  whole  matter 
out  to  the  satisfaction  of  her  clear,  fair  mind,  and 
wrote  a  very  artistically  penitent  note  to  Jack,  re- 
tracting some  of  the  unwarrantable  things  she  had 
said  in  her  wrath  and  admitting  rather  hazily  that 
there  was  a  faint  possibility  that  he  might  have  been 
in  the  right  about  certain  matters,  implying  that  she 
was  magnanimously  willing  even  to  ignore  his  ob- 
jectionable Tightness  if  he  so  desired. 

And  her  note  crossed  one  from  Jack,  begging  her 
to  forgive  his  "  darned  impertinence  "  and  adding 
that  he  had  behaved  like  a  jackass  and  a  dog  in  the 
manger  and  Heaven  knows  how  many  other  kinds 
of  animals,  but  if  she  would  be  good  enough  to  over- 


Margins  155 

look  his  misdemeanors  he  would  be  eternally  grate- 
ful. 

And  the  next  evening  Sylvia  appeared  under 
Jack's  escort  at  the  Honeycutt  ball,  wearing  a  mar- 
velous new  gown  and  looking  extraordinarily  pretty 
after  her  temporary  estrangement  from  Vanity  Fair. 
And  from  that  time  on  during  all  the  mad  gayeties 
of  Christmas  week  Jack  was  constantly  in  attendance, 
obviously  the  favored  knight.  Life  is  mostly  made 
up  of  reactions.  The  pendulum  having  swung  so 
far  to  the  left,  swings  back  an  equal  distance  to  the 
right.  Sylvia  was  the  kinder  to  Jack  because  of  her 
defection  away  from  him  in  an  entirely  opposite  di- 
rection. And  he,  with  the  wisdom  born  of  consid- 
erable experience  of  the  feminine  sex  in  general,  and 
Sylvia  Arden  in  particular,  made  no  comment 
though  he  perfectly  understood  what  had  happened, 
but  sunned  himself  agreeably  in  his  lady's  rather  un- 
certain grace  and  bided  his  time. 

And  the  night  of  the  Honeycutt  ball  for  the  first 
time  in  several  weeks  Tom  Daly  sat  and  smoked  be- 
fore his  own  fireside  and  not  once  did  he  think  of 
the  new  hospital. 


CHAPTER     XII 

"  SUCH   STUFF  AS  DREAMS  " 

"  PHIL  ?  That  you,  my  boy  ?  Come  up  and  take 
dinner  with  us  to-night,  won't  you  ?  I  have  a  propo- 
sition to  make  to  you." 

Thus  the  smooth  voice  of  Justin  Huntley  over 
the  telephone.  Justin  Huntley  was  a  famous  nerve 
specialist,  a  classmate  and  lifelong  friend  of  Phil 
Lorrimer's  father,  who  had  kept  a  friendly  eye  on 
the  young  man  ever  since  he  had  come  to  the  city. 

Phil  accepted  the  invitation,  and  later,  as  he  left 
the  Subway  and  strolled  down  Seventy-second  Street 
toward  the  river,  he  speculated  vaguely  as  to  what 
the  proposition  might  be  likely  to  be.  Doctor 
Huntley  was  quite  capable  of  initiating  any  kind  of 
a  suggestion,  from  proposing  a  marriage  to  an  heir- 
ess to  the  use  of  a  new  serum.  Consequently  Phil 
had  little  to  go  upon  in  his  speculations. 

It  was  an  agreeable  dinner.  Dinner  at  the  Hunt- 
leys'  always  was  agreeable,  moving  by  pleasant 
stages  to  a  perfect  end,  gastronomically  speaking. 

156 


"Such  Stuff  as  Dreams"  157 

There  were  no  other  guests  to-night  and  presently, 
Mrs.  Huntley,  a  frail  tired  looking  little  lady  who 
always  seemed  to  be  deprecating  the  weight  of  her 
silks  and  the  brilliancy  of  her  jewels,  rose  and  left 
the  two  men  together. 

"  Any  curiosity  about  the  proposition  I  baited  my 
hook  with  to  get  you  here  to-night  ?  "  Dr.  Huntley 
surveyed  his  guest  a  little  quizzically  as  he  launched 
the  question. 

"  I  didn't  need  any  bait,"  said  Phil.  "  But  I  ad- 
mit the  curiosity." 

The  older  man  leaned  forward  and  deliberately  lit 
his  cigarette  from  a  candle  that  stood  close  at  hand. 

"  You  don't  smoke  ?  "  he  remarked  irrelevantly. 

"No,"  admitted  Phil.  "At  least,  not  often. 
Bad  for  the  operating  table." 

"  Bad !  It's  the  devil.  You  have  a  deal  of  sense, 
young  man.  How  would  you  like  to  be  my  part- 
ner? "  The  question  was  put  as  casually  as  if  he 
were  offering  a  fellow  traveler,  caught  in  the  rain, 
a  share  of  his  umbrella,  but  his  shrewd  eyes  took  full 
account  of  the  face  of  the  young  man.  Phil  flushed 
and  his  mouth  opened  slightly.  It  was  a  proposition 
to  make  any  ambitious  young  man  drop  his  jaw. 
Justin  Huntley  had  one  of  the  largest  and  most  re- 
munerative practices  in  the  city.  It  was  a  dazzling 


158  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

prospect  to  open  suddenly  before  the  eyes  of  a 
small-salaried  worker  in  a  free  clinic.  It  meant  suc- 
cess, money  —  Sylvia,  something  to  offer  her,  at  last. 

"  Well  ?  " 

"It  is  a  wonderful  chance,"  said  Phil  steadily, 
"  but  I  should  like  to  think  it  over,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"  Eh?"  It  was  Dr.  Huntley's  jaw  that  dropped 
this  time.  He  had  scarcely  expected  a  young  man 
in  Phil  Lorrimer's  position  to  need  to  think  over 
an  offer  such  as  he  had  just  made.  Most  young 
men  would  have  jumped  at  it  quickly  as  a  trout  leaps 
at  a  shining  fly  lest  the  fascinating  thing  disappear 
from  view  before  it  could  be  apprehended.  "  What 
did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said  I  should  have  to  think  it  over,"  repeated 
Phil.  "  Your  kind  of  practice  isn't  the  kind  I  am 
interested  in,  to  speak  frankly." 

"  Interested !  Good  Lord !  Who  expects  to  be 
interested  in  anything  nowadays?  A  lot  of  damn 
women  with  nothing  on  earth  the  matter  with  them 
except  fool  notions,  and  having  nothing  on  earth 
or  in  Heaven  to  occupy  themselves  with,  dyspeptics, 
neurasthenics,  hypochondriacs,  dope  fiends,  gentle- 
men drunkards  and  worse!  That  is  my  kind  of 
practice,  boy.  Pah!  Interesting!  Of  course,  they 


159 

aren't  interesting.  They  are  fools.  But  they  pay. 
Lord,  how  they  pay !  They  wouldn't  be  sick  if  they 
didn't  have  so  much  money.  You  would  open  your 
eyes  if  you  saw  my  books.  But  I've  had  'most 
enough  of  'em.  I  want  somebody  to  take  the  brunt 
of  their  damn  foolishnesses  off  of  me.  That  is  what 
I  want  a  partner  for.  Some  day  I'll  be  telling  'em 
what  I  really  think  of  'em  and  it  wouldn't  do  —  it 
wouldn't  do.  I've  got  to  have  an  understudy. 
You've  a  close  mouth  and  a  good  head  and  you'd  like 
the  money.  Don't  tell  me  you  wouldn't  like  it," 
querulously.  "  Everybody  wants  money  these  days. 
The  whole  world's  after  it." 

"  Oh,  I  want  it  all  right,"  said  Phil  Lorrimer  hon- 
estly. "  I  happen  to  want  it  like  the  devil  just  at 
present.  But  I  am  not  sure  I  want  it  —  that  bad. 
That  is  what  I  have  to  think  over." 

He  took  a  hasty  swallow  of  water  from  the  glass 
beside  his  plate,  then  rose  and  made  a  few  quick, 
nervous  turns,  up  and  down  the  room.  Finally  he 
came  to  a  halt  opposite  his  host. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  make  you  under- 
stand, Dr.  Huntley,  but  it  is  like  this,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  a  drop  or  so  of  missionary  blood  in  me.  My 
father  is  in  China  now.  My  mother  would  be,  if 
she  could  stand  the  climate.  My  sister  is  teaching 


160  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

in  a  missionary  school  in  Turkey.  I  chose  the  kind 
of  work  I  am  doing  here  in  New  York  partly  be- 
cause it  interested  me,  but  I  believe  it  was  a  little 
bit  too  because  of  the  missionary  strain.  Anyway, 
it  seems  to  me  a  worth-while  job.  But  this  thing 
you  are  offering  me  —  Pardon  me  if  I  sound  rude. 
I  don't  mean  to  disparage  your  work.  It  is  fine  — 
some  of  it,  but  well,  the  truth  of  it  is,  it  doesn't  look 
to  me  to  measure  up  to  what  we  are  doing  in  the 
clinic  and  what  some  other  doctors  and  surgeons  are 
doing  in  other  places.  The  finest  man  I  know  — 
doing  the  finest  work  I  know  —  is  in  Greendale,  a 
little  place  just  outside  Baltimore.  He  has  always 
been  a  sort  of  standard  for  me  —  he  and  my  father. 
If  I  went  in  with  you,  it  would  be  not  because  my 
heart  was  in  it,  but  because  the  money  was  in  it,  and 
I  wanted  the  money  worse  than  I  wanted  to  hang 
onto  my  dreams.  That  is  about  the  whole  story." 

Justin  Huntley  smoked  in  silence  during  this,  for 
Phil,  rather  long  speech.  Phil  was  not  much  given 
to  eloquence. 

"  Well,"  he  said.  "  Even  so.  Put  it  as  baldly  as 
that,  if  you  like.  It  is  up  to  you.  A  man  can't 
afford  to  sentimentalize  much  in  this  day  and  genera- 
tion. Let  me  remind  you,  the  money  is  not  to  be 
despised.  It  buys  a  good  deal." 


"Such  Stuff  as  Dreams"  161 

Phil's  eyes  were  lowered.  Well  he  knew,  or 
thought  he  knew,  what  it  could  buy  for  him.  Not 
Sylvia,  of  course,  Sylvia  could  not  be  bought,  but 
the  right  to  go  in  and  try  to  win  her  against  Jack, 
against  the  world,  yes,  against  even  his  own  ideals. 
The  last  thought  crowded  in,  an  unbidden  guest. 
Suddenly  he  loathed  his  father's  friend,  loathed  his 
smug  success,  his  cynical  sureness  that  he  himself 
could  be  bought.  For  it  was  buying,  and  Phil  knew 
it.  If  he  took  this  offer,  he  sold  out,  to  the  highest 
bidder,  his  own  high  ideals.  Was  it  worth  it  ?  Was 
even  Sylvia  worth  it  ?  Had  he  the  right  to  win  her 
that  way  ?  Could  he  do  it  ? 

"  Don't  give  your  final  answer  to-night."  Justin 
Huntley's  bland  voice  interrupted  the  boy's  reflec- 
tions. "  There  is  no  hurry.  Take  a  week.  Two 

—  three  —  if  you  like." 

Phil  pulled  himself  together. 

"  Thank  you.  I  will,  if  you  don't  object  —  a  few 
days,  anyway.  Please  don't  think  I  am  ungrateful, 
or  don't  appreciate  the  compliment  you  have  paid  me 

—  or  rather  the  kindness,  for,  of  course,  I  know  I'm 
not  experienced  enough  to  be  much  of  a  partner  at 
present.     I — " 

But  Huntley  waved  the  words  aside. 

"  It's  not  kindness  —  nothing  but  selfishness.     I 


162  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

happen  to  want  you.  Come  on  in  if  you  will.  Any- 
way think  it  over.  The  madame  is  alone.  Shall 
we  goto  her?  " 

Phil  fancied  there  was  an  odd,  wistful  inquiry  in 
Mrs.  Huntley's  pale  eyes  as  she  turned  to  meet  the 
men  as  they  entered  the  room.  It  was  almost  as  if 
she  were  making  some  kind  of  plea.  Whether  she 
wanted  him  to  accept  or  refuse  her  husband's  offer 
was  not  at  all  clear  to  Phil.  He  made  his  adieus  as 
early  as  he  politely  could  on  the  score  of  a  previous 
engagement  and  passed  out  into  the  night  trying  to 
adjust  as  best  he  could  the  confused  bundle  of 
thoughts  and  emotions  he  carried. 

"  Wonder  if  old  Mephisto  had  any  qualms,"  mut- 
tered Justin  Huntley  as  the  door  had  closed  upon  the 
tall  young  doctor. 

"  Did  you  speak,  dear?  "  inquired  his  wife.  "  I 
didn't  understand." 

"  No,  I  didn't  say  anything  —  worth  repeat- 
ing." 

"  How  like  Philip  is  to  his  father,  isn't  he?  " 

"  Very  like,"  somewhat  dryly.  "  Did  you  say 
there  was  a  girl?  " 

"  A  girl?  "  Mrs.  Huntley  always  dealt  in  mild  in- 
terrogatives  as  if  to  disclaim  the  responsibility  of 
assertion.  "  Oh,  yes.  His  mother  told  us  he  was 


"Such  Stuff  as  Dreams"  163 

devoted  to  Sylvia  Arden  —  wasn't  it  ?  That  lovely 
young  girl  we  met  once  —  in  Baltimore,  I  think? 
She  is  a  great  heiress,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  H-mm.  Maybe  he  will  be  back,  after  all,"  re- 
marked her  husband  irrelevantly. 

Phil's  restlessness  gave  him  no  peace,  and  though 
the  engagement  had  been  fiction  he  decided  to  run 
around  and  see  Barb  a  few  moments  before  he  turned 
in  for  the  night.  He  had  gotten  in  the  habit  of 
using  Barb  as  an  anaesthetic  of  late,  though  he  had 
no  idea  he  was  doing  it.  To-night  he  found  her 
alone,  curled  up  like  a  sleepy  kitten  before  the  fire. 
She  rose  with  a  happy  little  exclamation  of  surprise 
as  Phil  came  in. 

For  once  the  flood  gates  of  his  reserve  were  down 
for  Phil.  In  five  minutes  he  had  poured  out  the 
whole  story  of  his  evening's  experience,  omitting 
nothing  except  the  mention  of  Sylvia.  In  fact,  he 
hardly  thought  it  necessary  to  mention  Sylvia.  She 
so  fully  possessed  his  own  mind  he  had  no  concep- 
tion that  Barbara  did  not  fully  understand  how  in- 
extricably Sylvia  was  woven  in  with  the  whole 
matter. 

"  But  Phil,"  wondered  Barb,  "  it  isn't  the  kind  of 
work  you  like,  is  it?  I  can't  imagine  you  dealing 
with  that  kind  of  patients  exclusively."  Barb's  eyes 


164  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

blinked  and  crinkled,  Barb-like,  as  she  made  the 
statement. 

"  Nor  I.  I  should  be  all  too  likely  to  tell  'em  to 
go  plum  to  thunder."  He  grinned  a  little  as  he 
made  the  admission. 

"  Then  why  ?  Phil,  it  can't  be  the  money  that  ap- 
peals to  you  ? "  Barb's  voice  was  startled,  incred- 
ulous. 

Phil  had  been  on  his  feet,  marching  to  and  fro  in 
the  little  room,  as  was  his  custom  when  excited. 
But  suddenly  he  dropped  into  a  chair  before  the 
hearth. 

"  Listen,  Barbie.  Listen  hard,"  he  said.  "  Sup- 
pose a  chap  wanted  to  marry  a  girl  and  he  didn't 
have  any  money,  at  least  not  as  much  as  he  thought 
he  ought  to  have,  not  to  look  like  a  fool  and  a  knave, 
asking  for  her,  and  then  suppose  that,  right  out  of  a 
clear  sky,  the  chap  saw  a  chance  to  make  a  big  in- 
come, perfectly  respectably,  if  not,  well,  we'll  say 
exhilaratingly,  wouldn't  he  just  naturally  grab  at  the 
chance  ?  " 

Phil  was  not  looking  at  Barb.  He  was  staring 
into  the  gas  log  with  all  his  might,  but  in  any  case 
it  didn't  matter  much.  Wherever  he  looked  Phil 
saw  only  Sylvia  that  night.  Barb's  cheeks  were 
pink  and  her  breath  came  a  little  more  quickly  than 


"Such  Stuff  as  Dreams"  165 

usual.  She  couldn't  help  wondering  if  Phil  could 
hear  the  "  Blop !  Blop !  Blop !  "  her  heart  was  mak- 
ing. It  seemed  as  if  he  must  hear,  it  was  such  a 
queer,  loud  sound,  but  he  did  not  appear  to  notice. 
He  did  not  even  turn  toward  her. 

"  He  might  grab,  but  I  think  he  would  put  his 
hand  down  quick  again  as  soon  as  he  realized  the 
girl  wouldn't  want  him  —  that  way.  She  wouldn't 
want  to  be  bought  at  a  price  —  like  that."  Barb 
managed  to  keep  her  voice  steady  in  spite  of  the 
queer  thing  her  heart  was  doing. 

"  Maybe  not,"  said  Phil.  "  Somehow  I  thought 
that  is  what  you  would  say,  Barbie.  Thank  you." 
And  suddenly  Phil  was  on  his  feet.  "  'Night,  Barb. 
I've  got  to  telephone  a  man  before  it  gets  any  later." 

And  before  Barb  caught  her  breath  he  was  gone. 
It  did  not  matter  any  more  now  how  her  heart  be- 
haved, but  somehow,  oddly  enough  it  stopped 
"  blopping  "  and  seemed  suddenly  to  be  very,  very 
tired  and  heavy,  as  if  it  were  going  to  sink  straight 
down  into  her  stomach  which,  of  course,  was  no 
place  for  a  heart  to  be  located. 

Yet  it  was  all  perfectly  natural  and  like  Phil  not 
to  have  said  anything  more  at  the  moment.  He  had 
to  get  the  taint  of  barter  off  his  hands  before  he 
came  to  her.  "  Suppose  a  chap  wanted  to  marry  a 


166  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

girl."  "  Suppose  a  chap  wanted  to  marry  a  girl.'* 
The  clock  on  the  mantel  seemed  to  be  ticking  out  the 
words  very  distinctly.  And  suddenly  Barb  felt  very 
happy  and  contented  and  curled  up  in  her  chair  again 
like  a  kitten.  Here  her  aunt  found  her  a  half  hour 
later. 

"  Asleep,  Kiddie?  "  she  asked,  and  Barbara  looked 
up  with  a  shy,  radiant  little  smile. 

"  No,  just  dreaming,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

INTO    HAVEN 

CHRISTMAS  was  over,  and  Sylvia  had  hardly 
breathed  for  a  week  so  engrossed  had  she  been  in 
all  kinds  of  festivities.  Even  now  she  was  prepar- 
ing to  depart  on  the  morrow  for  an  even  gayer  round, 
on  the  long  promised  visit  to  Jeanette  Latham,  Jack's 
sister.  Perhaps  it  was  to  keep  the  "  Booing  "  ques- 
tions at  a  distance  that  Sylvia  chose  to  fly  from  one 
mad  whirl  to  another  that  winter. 

"  I  almost  wish  you  weren't  going  to  New  York, 
just  now,  Sylvia.  You  look  tired  to  death  and  your 
nerves  are  *  jumpy/  as  Doctor  Tom  says." 

Thus  Felicia  addressed  Sylvia  at  breakfast  the 
morning  of  the  twenty-sixth,  after  the  children  had 
scampered  off  to  the  delights  of  yesterday's  new  har- 
vest of  toys. 

"  It  is  nothing  but  the  day-after  feeling,"  said 
Sylvia.  "  I've  danced  until  morning  for  four  nights 
running.  I'll  be  all  right  as  soon  as  I  can  get  some 
sleep." 

167 


168  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  I  don't  know,"  Felicia  looked  dubious.  "  If 
you  were  seventeen  instead  of  twenty-two,  I  believe 
I  should  order  you  to  stay  at  home." 

"  Isn't  it  lucky,  I'm  not?  "  smiled  Sylvia.  "  Fe- 
licia, dear,  you  never  did  really  boss  me  in  all  the 
years  you  might  have  done  it.  Are  you  going  to  be- 
gin now  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  wouldn't  be  much  use  at  this  late 
date,"  sighed  Felicia.  "  Sometimes  I  wonder  why 
you  aren't  more  spoiled  than  you  are.  Seriously, 
child,  you  have  gotten  a  little  of  your  shining  splen- 
dor rubbed  off.  Anything  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,  except  maybe  I  wish  I 
knew  whether  I  were  going  to  marry  Jack  or  not. 
It  is  a  little  distracting  not  to  know.  You  don't 
happen  to  possess  any  inside  information  on  the  sub- 
ject, do  you?"  Sylvia's  smile  was  whimsical  but 
her  eyes  were  tired.  It  was  true.  She  had  lost  a 
little  of  her  "  shining  splendor,"  as  Felicia  described 
it,  in  the  past  few  weeks. 

"  I  do  not.  But  I  should  on  the  whole  say  you 
were  not  going  to  marry  him.  You  have  seen  too 
much  of  him  lately.  You  need  to  get  away  and  get 
a  perspective." 

"Well,  who  wanted  to  order  me  to  stay  away 
from  New  York,  just  now  ?  " 


Into  Haven  169 

"  I  retract.  Go  ahead  with  my  blessing.  I  hope 
you  will  meet  a  hundred  young  men  and  let  Jack 
Amidon  get  put  in  his  place." 

"  That  is  just  it.     What  is  his  place  ?  " 

"  Sylvia !  "  Felicia's  tone  was  faintly  exasper- 
ated. "  You  are  no  more  in  love  with  Jack  Amidon 
than  I  am.  Some  day  you  will  wake  up  and  find  it 
out." 

"  Will  I  ?  Sometimes,  Felicia,  I  have  a  horrible  sus- 
picion I  am  just  a  taster — like  tea  tasters,  you  know. 
Only  I  like  to  go  round  tasting  experience.  I  never 
thought  I  was  a  bit  of  a  flirt  until  lately.  But  I'm 
just  finding  out  there  are  ways  and  ways  of  flirting, 
having  '  adventures  in  personality  '  as  Suzanne  calls 
it.  Jack  says  my  '  Damnable  sympathetic  ways  '  are 
vicious.  Maybe  they  are.  I  think  I  must  be  a  sort 
of  chameleon  —  all  things  to  all  men,  you  know.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  I  couldn't  really  love  anybody  — 
grand  style." 

"  You  goose !  When  the  right  man  comes  along 
you  will  know  the  difference." 

"  I  wonder."  And  suddenly  Sylvia  remembered 
how  she  had  felt  that  night  on  Lover's  Leap,  when 
she  and  Philip  Lorrimer  had  been  the  only  two  in- 
dividuals in  a  whole  spacious,  shining  universe.  It 
seemed  now  as  if  she  had  heard  a  kind  of  Hallelujah 


170  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

chorus,  or  was  it  that  the  silence  had  been  a  strange 
kind  of  music  itself  ? 

And  then  on  the  heels  of  this  blinding  sweet  mem- 
ory had  come  another,  bringing  with  it  a  bitter  taste, 
a  memory  of  those  long  days  after  Phil  had  gone 
back  to  the  city  and  she  had  watched  the  mails  and 
pretended  to  ignore  them. 

And  then  she  remembered  Gus  and  Jack  and  Doc- 
tor Tom.  Had  they  all  been  just  understudies  for 
somebody  else  she  really  wanted  in  her  heart  of 
hearts  ?  How  many  other  understudies  would  there 
be?  And  would  she  marry  one  of  them  sooner  or 
later? 

"  Women  are  rather  like  cats,  after  all,  aren't  they, 
Felicia  ?  They  will  pat  their  mice  and  keep  putting 
their  paws  on  them,  even  if  they  don't  want  to  eat 
them." 

Felicia  laughed. 

"What  a  traveler  you  are!  Have  you  been  half 
round  the  world  since  you  spoke  last  ?  Shall  we  ask 
Tom  and  Lois  over  to  dinner  to-night  ?  We  haven't 
seen  either  of  them  for  an  age." 

"  Yes,"  said  Sylvia.  "  You  telephone,  Felicia.  I 
have  to  pack." 

Sylvia  had  seen  practically  nothing  of  Doctor 
Tom  for  the  past  few  weeks.  Never  once  in  that 


Into  Haven  171 

time  had  she  been  alone  with  him.  Twice  Doctor 
Tom  had  been  over  when  she  was  in,  which  was 
not  often  during  those  full  holiday  evenings,  and 
she  had  taken  pains  to  be  sure  Felicia  was  present  on 
those  two  occasions.  Once  he  had  called  to  her  to 
come  for  a  drive  but  she  had  had  a  genuine  engage- 
ment with  Jack  to  plead.  She  felt  silly  enough  plac- 
ing any  sort  of  a  barrier  between  herself  and  Doc- 
tor Tom  but  she  was  afraid  for  her  own  part  it  would 
be  some  time  before  she  could  meet  him  quite  nat- 
urally again.  Sometimes  she  wished  Jack  had  kept 
his  "  darned  impertinence "  to  himself  and  other 
times  she  owned  it  was  safer  this  way.  Better  that 
children  should  not  play  with  matches  at  all,  since 
matches  did  sometimes  ignite.  At  any  rate,  she  did 
not  mean  to  see  her  neighbor  alone  again  until  after 
she  got  back  from  New  York. 

But  Fate  ruled  otherwise.  That  very  afternoon, 
after  her  breakfast  table  philosophizing,  she  had 
gone  downtown  to  attend  to  a  few  last  errands  and 
the  delicious,  crisp  frostiness  of  the  day  tempted  her 
to  walk  instead  of  having  the  car  out.  She  had 
hardly  finished  her  tasks  and  started  homeward  when 
she  heard  Doctor  Tom's  familiar  whistle,  and,  turn- 
ing, saw  him  reigning  in  black  Bess  by  the  curb. 

"  Game  for  a  spin  ?  "  he  asked.     "  I  have  to  go  a 


172  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

few  miles  out  in  the  country  and  was  looking  for 
company." 

His  tone  was  so  natural  that  Sylvia  herself  lost 
her  self-consciousness  and  was  so  thankful  for  the 
loss  that  she  was  very  gay  and  talkative.  If  only  he 
needn't  find  out  that  it  had  not  been  accidental  that 
he  had  seen  so  little  of  herself  of  late  all  would  be 
well. 

"  Seems  to  me  you  are  turning  into  a  regular 
society  Miss  after  all,"  he  teased.  "  Bet  you've  been 
cutting  Red  Cross  and  everything  else  since  this 
dance  mania  set  in." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have.  I've  been  an  awful  back- 
slider in  pretty  much  everything  lately,"  she  told  him 
soberly. 

He  flashed  one  of  his  quick,  shrewd  glances  at  her. 

"  What's  this,  Miss  Christmas  ?  Your  own  spe- 
cial season  here  and  you  in  the  dumps  without  even 
a  solitary  star  sparkle  ?  " 

"  You  are  as  bad  as  Felicia,"  said  Sylvia  a  little 
crossly.  "  Do  you  all  expect  me  to  grin  like  a 
Cheshire  cat  every  minute  ?  " 

He  chuckled. 

"Sylvia  touchy!  What  next?  Indigestion  or 
bad  conscience  ?  " 

"  Neither  —  well,  maybe  a  bit  of  the  latter,"  ad- 


Into  Haven  173 

mitted  Sylvia.  "  Anyway,  I  am  not  at  all  pleased 
with  myself  lately.  I'm  getting  to  be  a  selfish  pig, 
and  that's  the  ungarnished  truth." 

"  Indeed !  I  hadn't  noticed  it.  The  McGuires 
had  a  powerful  good  dinner  yesterday  and  — " 

"  Do  hush.  It  is  nothing  to  send  dinners  to  Mc- 
Guire's.  It  doesn't  cost  me  anything  —  not  even 
much  thought  You  needn't  try  to  smooth  it  over. 
I  know.  I  haven't  been  thinking  about  a  single  soul 
in  the  world  lately  except  Sylvia  Arden.  I  set  Jack 
to  work  and  I've  just  diddled  round  myself  doing 
next  to  nothing.  I  haven't  even  learned  to  cook  as 
I  said  I  was  going  to,  and  since  Gus  went  I  haven't 
practiced  and  — " 

"  And  since  three  weeks  ago  Thursday  you  haven't 
even  played  me  a  psalm  tune,"  he  jested. 

Then  suddenly  he  stared.  For  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eye  he  perceived  that  Sylvia  was  unmistak- 
ably blushing,  blushing,  of  course,  the  more  hotly 
because  she  was  so  furiously  angry  at  herself  for  so 
doing. 

"  So  it  isn't  my  imagination.  There  has  been 
some  kind  of  fool  talk  somewhere.  Confound  me 
for  an  idiot!  Poor  kid!  We'll  settle  that."  So 
thought  Tom  Daly.  Then  aloud,  "  See  here,  Syl- 
via, may  I  say  a  little  speech  ?  You  needn't  look  at 


174  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

me.  I  was  a  manger  dog  all  right,  a  few  weeks  ago, 
without  meaning  to  be.  I  had  no  business  to  be 
keeping  the  young  chaps  away  from  you.  I  didn't 
even  see  I  was  doing  it.  I  was  down  and  out  for  a 
while,  and  you,  bless  your  kind  heart,  saw  it  and 
came  to  the  rescue,  like  the  Christmas  girl  you  are. 
I  shan't  forget  what  you  did  for  me.  If  you  pulled 
me  out  of  a  rut  —  and  you  did  —  maybe  we  both 
came  somewhere  near  being  pulled  into  a  bigger  one. 
So  far  as  I  know,  no  man  is  ever  old  enough  to  be 
sure  he's  passed  the  fool  limit,  and  maybe  I  was 
nearer  the  edge  than  I  knew.  Anyway,  you  were  a 
trump  as  usual.  The  blame,  if  there  is  any,  is  mine. 
All  right,  little  sister?  "  Then,  at  last,  he  turned  to 
face  Sylvia. 

And  suddenly  and  disconcertingly  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  She  was  very  tired  and  her  nerves  were 
unstrung  by  too  much  gayety  and  mental  uneasiness. 

"  Of  course  it  is  all  right.  There  never  was  any- 
thing much  wrong,  only  —  well,  I  thought  I  was  be- 
ginning to  plume  myself  and  get  complacent  be- 
cause I  was  the  only  one  who  patted  you  and 
smoothed  your  fur  the  right  way  and  maybe  I'd 
better  stop  before  —  Doctor  Tom,  I  hate  things  to  be 
as  they  are." 

"Meaning?" 


Into  Haven  175 

"  Lots  of  things,  but  mostly  why  can't  people  — 
men  and  women  —  just  be  friends  and  not  have  any- 
thing else  snarled  up  with  it?  " 

"  They  can."  Tom  Daly's  steady  voice  was  like 
oil  to  the  troubled  waters  of  Sylvia's  soul. 

Nor  did  she  guess  that  it  cost  him  something  of 
an  effort  to  throw  precisely  the  right  amount  of  big- 
brotherness  into  his  words.  As  he  admitted,  no  man 
could  safely  boast  that  he  had  passed  the  fool  limit, 
but  he  could  and  would  be  man  enough  himself  to  be 
sure  no  girl  like  Sylvia  was  going  to  be  bothered  by 
the  folly. 

"  We  can  anyway,"  he  smiled  down  at  Sylvia  to 
add  in  the  old  friendly  way,  a  friendliness  whose 
very  familiarity  was  steadying. 

She  smiled  back  mistily. 

"  Of  course  we  can.  I'm  a  silly  idiot  to-day. 
Ghosts  seem  to  walk  even  in  the  sunniest,  most  every- 
day places.  Thank  you,  Doctor  Tom.  I  don't 
know  why  I  wept.  My  spirit  isn't  weepy.  It  was 
just  my  eyes.  My  spirit  feels  like  singing  '  Yankee 
Doodle '  this  minute." 

"  Let  her  go,"  he  approved  gayly,  and  directed  the 
conversation  through  the  rest  of  the  ride  so  skillfully 
to  safe  and  sane  and  neutral  matters  that  long  before 
they  reached  the  Hill  Sylvia  had  lost  the  last  vestige 


176  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

of  self-consciousness,  and  was  her  old,  merry,  nat- 
ural self,  with  a  good  many  of  the  "  star  sparkles  " 
back  in  their  places. 

This  process  was  so  salutary  that  later  when  Tom 
and  Lois  were  at  the  Hall  to  dinner  it  hardly  seemed 
possible  to  Sylvia  that  she  had  had  any  queer  feel- 
ings at  all  about  the  matter  and  teased  and  joked 
with  the  doctor  in  precisely  her  old  merry,  audacious 
way,  exactly  as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  doing 
since  she  was  a  naughty  little  schoolgirl  at  St.  Anne's. 
When  they  were  walking  home  together  in  the  star- 
light Lois  turned  to  her  husband  with  a  curious 
question. 

"  Tom,  don't  you  ever  wish  you  had  waited  for 
Sylvia?  She  is  so  lovely  and  full  of  life.  She  is 
much  more  your  kind  than  I  am." 

Tom  Daly  shook  his  head,  and  added  with  all  hon- 
esty that  there  never  had  been  but  one  girl  he  had 
wanted  to  marry  and  he  had  been  lucky  enough  to 
get  her.  And  Lois,  suddenly  lifting  her  face  to  his, 
gave  him  one  of  her  rare  love  looks ;  a  look  which  he 
would  have  crossed  the  very  fires  of  Hell  to  gain. 

As  they  entered  the  house  she  turned  to  him  again. 

'*  Tom,  I  am  cold  and  indifferent  and  I  don't  al- 
ways care  about  the  things  you  care  so  much  for 
but  I  do  care  —  about  you.  I  wish  you  would  try 


Into  Haven  177 

to  remember  that,  even  when  I  hurt  you.  Do  you 
mind  kissing  me?  " 

Tom  Daly  had  not  "  minded."  But  it  was  not 
until  they  were  upstairs  in  their  own  room  that  the 
whole  of  Lois'  slow  speech  evolved.  She  turned 
from  the  mirror  before  which  she  had  been  letting 
down  her  long,  ash  blond  hair. 

"  Tom,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  Lois." 

"  Do  you  know  I  have  been  having  a  feeling 
for  a  long  time  that  you  and  Sylvia  were  beginning 
to  care  for  each  other  ?  It  began  that  night  she  was 
here  and  played  to  you  all  the  evening  while  I  wrote 
out  checks.  I  went  out  to  cover  the  flowers  and  I 
saw  you  on  her  steps,  with  her  hands  in  yours  look- 
ing so  exactly  like  lovers  something  just  froze  in  me. 
I  hate  jealous  women  and  I  wouldn't  say  it  or  hardly 
think  it,  but  that  is  why  I  have  been  holding  you  so 
far  off.  If  you  could  love  Sylvia,  I  didn't  want  to 
keep  you.  I  wouldn't  fight  for  anything  —  even 
love.  But  to-night  I  saw  it  had  all  been  just  my  im- 
agination. I  have  hurt  myself  and  you  just  for 
nothing.  I  might  have  known  Sylvia  wasn't  that 
kind.  Oh,  Tom!" 

But  even  as  he  drew  Lois  into  his  arms  Tom 
Daly  knew  that  it  is  sometimes  a  woman's  business  to 


178  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

fight  for  love.  Humbly  he  admitted  that  it  had  been 
Sylvia  and  not  himself  nor  Lois  who  had  saved 
the  day.  As  honest  a  man  as  ever  lived  was  Tom 
Daly,  but  neither  then  nor  at  any  other  time  did  he 
tell  his  wife  how  narrowly  her  fears  had  escaped 
realization.  Nor  did  Sylvia  Arden  ever  guess  how 
slight  an  impetus  would  have  set  herself  and  the 
fine  man  she  knew  as  neighbor  and  brother  drifting 
into  perilous  seas,  instead  of  being  as  they  now  were, 
anchored  safely  in  the  haven  of  old  friendship. 
That  was  Tom  Daly's  secret,  and  he  was  used  to 
keeping  secrets,  even  his  own. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"  AND   HAVING   EYES  " 

AFTER  the  night  when  Phil  Lorrimer  played  with 
opportunity  a  minute,  then  set  it  aside  as  not  for  his 
taking,  things  began  to  be  different.  Human  rela- 
tions have  a  way  of  shifting  into  new  combinations 
of  form  and  color  like  a  kaleidoscope  just  when 
you  think  they  have  become  as  fixed  as  the  stars  in 
their  courses. 

That  night  brought  a  reaction  with  Phil.  He 
was  actuated  by  a  fierce  and  relentless  energy  which 
only  work  could  appease.  Hence  he  came  less  often 
to  Miss  Josephine  Murray's  pleasant  apartment,  but 
kept  burrowing  deeper  and  deeper  like  a  mole  into 
the  professional  soil,  working  like  a  demon  by  day, 
and  studying,  reading,  experimenting  doggedly  by 
night,  trying  his  best  to  fill  his  mind  so  full  that  the 
thought  of  Sylvia  could  not  find  a  cranny  in  which 
to  creep  and  grow.  But  the  less  vacuum  he  left  in 
his  mind  the  bigger  seemed  the  emptiness  of  his 
heart,  or  rather  its  fullness,  for  was  it  not  full  to 

179 


180  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

overflowing  with  love  for  Sylvia  ?  Like  a  mole,  too, 
in  his  blindness,  it  did  not  occur  to  Phil  that  his 
stubborn  silence  might  be  hurting  Sylvia.  Still  less 
in  his  humble  unself consciousness  did  it  occur  to  him 
that  he  might  also  be  hurting  Barbara  Day.  He  had 
supposed  always  she  understood.  His  love  for  Syl- 
via seemed  as  obvious  and  inevitable  as  rain  and  sun. 
It  was  incredible  that  any  one  should  be  unaware 
of  it.  So  he  would  perhaps  have  reasoned,  if  it  had 
seemed  necessary  to  reason  at  all  on  the  subject, 
which  it  did  not. 

And  while  Phil  burrowed  and  blundered  Barbara 
grew  up.  Her  cheeks  shed  their  soft  childlike 
curves.  Her  eyes  lost  their  dewy  morning-glory 
look.  They  seemed  not  to  wonder  any  more,  but  to 
know.  The  city  had  set  its  seal  upon  her,  fed  her 
youth  to  its  strange  gods.  But  the  city  was  not  all  to 
blame.  What  had  happened  to  Barb  might  have 
happened  anywhere.  The  little  drama  in  which  she 
was  playing  out  her  part  might  have  been  staged  in 
any  other  place  quite  as  well.  Nor  was  it  at  all  an 
original  drama.  Its  plot  is  curiously  old  though  it 
has  infinite  variations. 

It  came  to  Barb  that  winter  that,  after  all,  happi- 
ness wasn't  the  essential  thing  she  had  believed. 
One  could,  it  seemed,  go  on  eating  and  sleeping  and 


"And  Having  Eyes"  181 

walking  and  talking  and  typing  and  even  laughing, 
just  the  same,  even  if  one  did  feel  a  little  like  an 
empty  goblet,  turned  bowl  down,  with  all  its  spar- 
kling contents  spilled  out.  It  was  queer,  but  it 
was  so. 

Yet  way  down  in  the  bottom  of  Barb's  heart  there 
still  nestled  a  little  winged  creature  called  Hope, 
just  as  there  had  been  in  the  bottom  of  Pandora's 
box.  Maybe  things  were  not  as  strange  as  they 
seemed.  Maybe  it  was  just  that  people  were  very 
busy  about  Christmas  time.  Possibly  after  New 
Year's  it  would  be  different  again. 

But  before  New  Year's  Barb  discovered  that 
things  would  never  be  different,  and  the  way  she 
found  out  was  very  simple. 

On  the  second  evening  of  her  visit  to  Jeanette, 
Sylvia  had  run  away  from  the  stately  "  Duplex  on 
the  Drive  "  to  take  supper  with  Barb,  and  Miss  Mur- 
ray, for  purposes  of  her  own,  had  asked  Doctor  Lor- 
rimer  to  join  them  also.  He  had  been  a  little  late 
in  arriving  and  as  the  others  had  already  gone  into 
the  dining-room  Barb  opened  the  door  for  him.  He 
greeted  her  with  the  old  friendly  terrible  grip  which 
crushed  Barb's  ring  into  her  finger  and  set  the  blood 
singing  through  her.  He  started  to  make  a  remark 
about  the  weather  but  his  opinion  of  that  commodity 


182  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

was  never  completed  for  suddenly  from  the  room 
beyond  Sylvia's  laughter  rippled  out. 

Did  you  ever  happen  to  be  engaged  in  decorous 
conversation  with  a  man  and  suddenly  see  a  change 
sweep  over  his  face,  and  an  arrested,  listening,  illu- 
minated look  take  possession  of  it,  just  because 
somewhere  in  the  distance  he  had  heard  a  step,  a 
voice,  a  laugh,  belonging  to  somebody  who  was  not 
yourself?  That  was  what  Barbara  Day  saw,  and 
the  little  winged  creature  used  her  wings  then  and 
there  and  never  came  back.  Barb  heard  the  clock 
tick  out  as  before,  "  Suppose  a  chap  wants  to  marry 
a  girl,"  but  she  knew  now,  once  and  for  all,  that  the 
clock  had  never  been  talking  about  Barbie  Day.  It 
had  always  meant  Sylvia  Arden  from  the  beginning. 

But  Barb's  fathers  had  been  fighting  men  and  she 
herself  was  game  to  her  little  brown  fingertips. 

"  Hurry !  "  she  said  gayly,  just  a  shade  too  gayly, 
perhaps,  only  Phil  did  not  notice.  "  Sylvia's  here 
and  soup's  served."  And  as  she  pushed  aside  the 
curtains  into  the  dining-room  she  announced  with  a 
gallant  flourish,  "  Doctor  Lorrimer,  ladies." 

But  while  Phil  and  Sylvia  shook  hands  she  did  not 
look  at  them,  busying  herself  instead  with  rearrang- 
ing the  scarlet  carnations  which  stood  in  the  center 
of  the  table,  complaining  to  her  aunt  as  she  did  so 


"And  Having  Eyes"  183 

that  the  flowers  looked  "  stiff  "  and  "  old-maidish  " 
and  needed  a  "  touch." 

It  was  Barb  who  was  the  blithest  of  them  all  that 
night  at  the  little  supper  party,  bestowing  to  it  the 
"  touch  "  just  as  she  had  to  the  carnations.  Sylvia 
and  Phil  were  both  slightly  self-conscious  and  not 
very  conversational.  Miss  Josephine  Murray  was 
somewhat  silent  too,  watching  the  young  people  with 
eyes  that  saw  all  there  was  to  see  and  understanding 
things  at  which  she  had  been  able  only  to  guess  hith- 
erto. 

That  night  after  Sylvia  and  Phil  had  gone,  Barb 
slipped  quickly  away  to  bed,  a  little  afraid  of  what 
her  aunt's  keen  gaze  might  have  discovered,  and 
longing,  in  any  case,  to  be  alone  with  the  dark  and 
the  Thing  she  had  been  dodging  all  the  evening,  the 
Thing  which  sooner  or  later  had  to  be  faced  and 
grappled  with. 

Later  Miss  Murray  found  her  wide  awake  and 
stooped  to  kiss  her  with  unwonted  tenderness. 

"  Good  night,  Barbie.  Anything  I  can  do  to  — 
put  you  to  sleep  ?  " 

Barb  shook  her  head  with  a  tired  little  smile. 
Then  suddenly  she  sat  up. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  I  think  I'd  like  you  to  put 
your  arms  around  me  and  hold  me  tight  for  a  min- 


184  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

ute.  Mother  used  to  hold  me  that  way  when  I  felt 
—  achey." 

Miss  Josephine's  arms  went  around  the  girl,  hold- 
ing her  very  "  tight "  indeed  for  a  few  moments  of 
silence. 

"Do  you  feel  very  achey,  Barbie?"  she  asked 
presently. 

"  Oh,  no,"  lied  Barb.  "  I  just  wanted  to  be  petted 
a  little  weeny  mite,  that  was  all.  I'm  all  right. 
Thank  you,  Aunt  Jo.  Don't  bother.  Do  go  to  bed. 
I  know  you  are  tired." 

That  was  the  nearest  the  two  ever  came  to  speak- 
ing of  the  Thing  but  neither  fell  asleep  until  dawn, 
and  when  Barb  awoke  from  her  brief,  heavy  slumber 
she  was  entirely  grown  up. 

Out  in  the  crisp  chill  of  the  December  night,  after 
leaving  Miss  Murray  and  Barb,  Phil  and  Sylvia  had 
found  their  tongues.  All  the  hurt  and  estrange- 
ment of  the  past  months  seemed  magically  to  have 
shed  itself,  leaving  only  the  old  happy  intimacy  with 
perhaps  a  touch  of  something  new  and  even  more 
exhilarating  about  it. 

As  they  walked  along  the  river  front  they  talked 
of  many  things,  of  Phil's  work,  of  Jack's  unprece- 
dented diligence,  of  Gus  Nichols'  success  on  the  road, 
of  Felicia's  designs,  and  Lois  Daly's  novel,  of  "  Hes- 


"And  Having  Eyes''  185 

ter  house  "  and  Phil's  mother,  of  Barb's  services  to 
the  Cause,  and  Suzanne's  mysterious  journeyings; 
of  everything  indeed,  it  seemed,  except  the  subject 
which  was  nearest  the  surface,  their  own  selves. 

When  they  reached  the  Lathams'  apartment  they 
were  still  as  far  from  having  said  the  really  import- 
ant things  that  trembled  on  their  lips  as  they  had 
been  at  the  beginning.  Sylvia  knew  perfectly  well 
what  she  wanted  to  say  but  being  a  woman  could  not 
say  it.  Phil  also  knew  perfectly  well  what  he  wanted 
to  say  but  being  a  man  set  his  lips  and  did  not  say  it. 

It  was  only  as  Sylvia  paused  in  the  doorway  and 
held  out  her  hand  to  Phil  that  the  thing  came  near 
to  getting  said  in  spite  of  them  both. 

"  Sylvia !  "  Phil's  voice  had  a  quick  little  catch  in 
it  very  unlike  his  usual  rather  deliberate  speech.  "If 
I  don't  see  much  of  you  while  you  are  here  you  will 
understand,  won't  you?  It  won't  be  because  I  don't 
want  to  but  because  I  —  don't  dare."  And  his  frank 
blue  eyes  implored  her  to  understand  and  forgive. 

"  Are  you  sure  —  there  is  anything  —  to  be  afraid 
of?"  Sylvia's  words  had  jerked  a  little,  too,  and 
as  she  drew  her  hand  away  to  press  the  bell  her  eyes 
expressed  more  even  than  her  tongue  had  said. 

"  Sylvia !  "  Phil  took  a  swift  step  nearer  but  be- 
fore he  could  say  any  more  a  solemn  liveried  person 


186  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

had  appeared  in  the  doorway  and  stood  at  blinking 
attention  while  Sylvia  shot  one  dazzling  glance  at 
the  young  doctor  and  vanished  into  the  dim  spaces 
of  the  hall,  whence  it  seemed  to  Phil,  though  he 
could  not  be  sure,  she  kissed  her  hand  to  him  behind 
the  liveried  person's  back,  before  she  was  lost  in 
the  elevator.  Phil  stared  after  her  a  moment  in 
dazed  silence  then  went  out  into  the  night. 

The  next  day,  when  he  came  in  from  the  clinic,  he 
found  a  little  note  from  Sylvia  inviting  him  to  take 
tea  with  her  the  following  afternoon.  "Of  course 
it  is  all  nonsense  about  your  not  seeing  much  of  me 
while  I  am  here,"  the  note  had  added.  "  Phil,  can't 
you  understand  there  isn't  anything  to  be  afraid 
of?"  The  last  was  underscored.  And  then  the 
writer  subscribed  herself  conventionally  his  as  ever. 

Phil  read  the  note  hungrily  several  times  and  puz- 
zled more  than  a  little  over  its  contents,  which  he 
perceived  were  open  to  more  than  one  interpreta- 
tion, especially  the  underscored  portion.  And  then 
he  had  sat  down  and  written  an  answer  which  he 
dispatched  by  special  messenger.  The  answer  ex- 
pressed thanks  and  polite  regret  that  the  writer  had 
a  previous  engagement. 

Sylvia  had  run  away  into  her  own  room  to  read 
the  note  and  grew  first  a  little  rosy,  then  a  little  white 


"And  Having  Eyes"  187 

as  she  read.  Then  she  tore  the  missive  into  bits,  and 
going  to  the  window,  deliberately  let  the  fragments 
flutter  away  in  the  December  blast  outside. 

"  I  might  as  well  have  proposed  and  done  with  it," 
she  thought  hotly.  "  Phil  Lorrimer  needn't  worry. 
I  won't  endanger  his  precious  peace  of  mind  again 
while  I'm  here.  Previous  engagement,  indeed! 
He's  afraid  of  my  money  and  he  makes  me  tired." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  she  did  Phil  injustice  in  one 
particular  at  least.  The  previous  engagement  had 
been  perfectly  authentic.  The  Washington  Square 
Players  were  giving  that  afternoon  a  first  perform- 
ance of  a  play  which  had  been  translated  from  the 
Russian  by  a  friend  of  Phil's  and  he  had  promised 
to  be  present  and  had  long  ago  invited  Barb  to  go 
with  him.  And  Barb  being  fully  determined  that 
Phil  should  never  guess  how  things  were  had  kept 
her  engagement  and  succeeded  in  behaving  so  com- 
radely and  sisterly,  which  was  precisely  the  way  she 
had  been  behaving  all  along  only  more  so,  that  her 
escort  was  allowed  to  continue  in  his  state  of  inno- 
cence and  ignorance  as  to  things  better  left  unknown, 
which  was  quite  according  to  code. 

But  it  was  one  of  those  odd  coincidences  that 
sometimes  occur  that  Sylvia  and  Jeanette  should 
have  been  whirling  swiftly  toward  the  park  on  their 


188  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

way  home  from  the  matinee  just  at  the  moment 
when  Phil  and  Barb  were  transferring  to  the  Sub- 
way at  the  Circle.  Very  much  absorbed  the  latter 
appeared  to  be  in  each  other's  society,  so  much  so 
that  neither  saw  the  limousine  pass  them,  but  Sylvia 
had  not  been  so  blind,  and  Jeanette  also  had  taken 
in  the  scene. 

"  Wasn't  that  your  little  friend  with  Phil  Lorri- 
mer  ?  "  the  latter  had  asked.  "  Somebody  was  tell- 
ing me  he  goes  everywhere  with  her.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  they  were  engaged,  should  you?  They 
certainly  looked  devoted  enough."  So  Jeanette  had 
rattled  on  and  never  noticed  that  Sylvia  had  not 
answered. 

That  night  Sylvia  had  gone  to  a  big  ball  and  worn 
a  wonderful,  sophisticated  Paquin  gown  of  sea  green 
satin  and  pearls.  She  looked  very  young  and  lovely. 
The  men  flocked  around  her  and  she  managed  them 
all  like  a  seasoned  coquette  and  had  three  proposals 
during  the  course  of  the  evening.  Of  course  it  was 
perfectly  well  known  that  she  was  an  heiress  as  well 
as  a  beauty,  so  the  proposers  was  not  so  romantically 
rash  as  might  have  been  thought. 

And  from  that  time  on  Sylvia  "  went  the  pace  " 
as  madly  as  Jeanette  herself,  without  pause  or  rest. 
After  that  one  supper  party  Barb  was  never  able  to 


"And  Having  Eyes"  189 

capture  her  friend  again,  her  engagements  piled  up 
so  fast  and  high.  It  looked  as  if  Suzanne's  proph- 
ecy about  the  "  labyrinth  "  were  being  fulfilled.  As 
for  Phil,  never  once  was  he  able  to  see  her  again. 
She  was  always  out  when  he  called  or  telephoned  and 
always  had  previous  engagements  when  he  tried  to 
get  her  for  the  theater  or  a  concert.  She  was  as  in- 
visible, so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  as  if  some  fairy's 
wand  had  drawn  a  magic  circle  about  her,  a  fact 
which  made  him  burrow  deeper  than  ever  in  his  work 
and  made  him  look  a  little  older  and  grimmer  than 
his  twenty-five  years  warranted. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    CITY    AND    SYLVIA 

SYLVIA  had  supposed  herself  sufficiently  grown  up 
and  wise  and  modern  when  she  came  to  the  city  but 
she  had  not  been  there  a  week  before  she  knew 
that  she  had  been  a  veritable  innocent,  an  infant  in 
swaddling  clothes,  so  to  speak.  Here  was  life,  of  a 
sort,  with  a  vengeance. 

In  Jeanette's  circle,  Sylvia  saw  Mammon  worship 
executed  on  so  prodigious  a  scale  and  with  such 
sacrificial  ardor  it  fairly  took  her  breath  away. 
Everything  was  of  the  superlative  degree.  Sheer 
wealth,  sheer  elaboration,  sheer  success,  sheer  big- 
ness, sheer  speed,  were  all  that  counted  it  seemed. 
And  in  the  melee  the  old-fashioned  virtues,  spiritual 
values,  ideals,  were  somehow  either  dimmed  beyond 
recognition  or  totally  extinguished.  Love  showed 
itself  chiefly  in  the  guise  of  passion,  often  frankly 
illicit,  and  in  lust  frequently  but  thinly  veiled.  The 
motley  throng  of  young-old  men  and  old-young  men 
who  paid  court  to  herself  were  obviously  actuated 

190 


The  City  and  Sylvia  191 

by  one  of  two  motives  or  a  combination  of  the  two, 
the  impulse  of  passion,  or  the  impulse  of  avarice. 
Both  points  of  view  Sylvia  loathed  and  thought  de- 
grading to  herself  as  well  as  the  men  who  held  them. 
Nearly  all  of  the  group  of  more  or  less  importunate 
suitors  who  thronged  about  her  she  frankly  despised. 
The  men  she  might  have  liked  and  respected  did  not 
come  near  her,  much  less  enter  the  lists.  No  doubt 
they  classed  her  with  the  other  women  with  whom 
she  appeared,  women  butterfly  clad,  butterfly  souled, 
obviously  unfit  for  the  serious  purposes  of  life. 
Sylvia  did  not  wonder  that  the  real  men  kept 
away.  They  showed  their  realness  by  so  doing  she 
thought. 

Once,  at  a  dinner,  fate  and  her  hostess  allotted  a 
different  kind  of  companion,  a  grim  looking  person 
with  very  broad  shoulders  and  very  clear  blue  eyes, 
who  let  her  severely  alone  during  three  courses  and 
then  when  she  was  getting  desperately  bored  by  the 
over-assiduous  attentions  of  the  receding-chinned, 
narrow-browed  scion  of  wealth  who  sat  at  her  other 
elbow  had  suddenly  turned  to  explode  a  question  in 
her  direction. 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  see  in  all  this?  " 
Sylvia  had  retorted  that  she  didn't  know  what  she 
saw  but  was  trying  to  find  out. 


192  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  When  the  pumpkin  coach  arrives  I  shall  skip 
back  home  and  think  it  over,"  she  had  added  whim- 
sically with  a  Sylvia  smile. 

Her  neighbor  had  grunted  a  little  at  that  and  eyed 
her  sharply  from  under  his  heavy  brows. 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  he  said.  "  You  don't  be- 
long." 

"  Don't  I  ? "  Sylvia  had  inquired  dubiously. 
"  Isn't  my  gown  all  right  ?  "  She  was  wearing  a 
New  York  creation  this  time,  of  white  tulle  and 
gold  tissue,  a  frock  which  Jeanette  had  pronounced 
a  "  dream,"  so  her  anxiety  was  not  very  deep-seated. 
"  Or  is  it  my  hair?  Ears  are  out  just  now,  aren't 
they.  They  told  me  they  were." 

"  Oh,  you  are  protectively  colored  all  right.  It 
isn't  that.  Superficially  you  might  be  any  one  of 
this  sea  of  ninnies  that  surround  us.  But,  my  dear 
young  lady,  your  eyes  betray  you.  You  have  a 
brain." 

"  Dear  me !  "  sighed  Sylvia,  looking  around  her 
apprehensively.  "  Is  it  so  bad  as  that  ?  I  hope 
nobody  else  suspects." 

"  No  danger.  They  aren't  looking  for  brains. 
Bodies  content  'em.  I  hope  you  don't  think  this 
Punch  and  Judy  show  is  the  real  New  York  ?  You 
are  a  stranger,  I  take  it?  " 


The  City  and  Sylvia  193 

"  A  pilgrim  and  a  stranger.  Where  is  the  real 
New  York?" 

"  Downtown,  a  good  deal  of  it.  Some  of  it  is  in 
the  universities,  especially  in  the  night  classes. 
Some  of  it  is  in  the  laboratories  where  they  are 
fighting  disease  and  achieving  chemical  miracles. 
Some  of  it  is  in  the  little  back  bedrooms  where  the 
chap  from  the  up-state  village  has  come  down  to 
peddle  his  dreams  in  the  market  place.  The  real 
New  York  —  the  real  America  —  is  made  up  of  just 
two  things  —  the  dream  and  the  deed.  Those  that 
make  dreams  their  masters  fail  and  go  to  pieces  and 
that  is  a  tragedy.  Those  that  build  without  the 
vision  will  see  the  work  of  their  hands  filter  to  dust. 
And  that's  a  worse  tragedy.  But  those  who  can 
dream  and  transmute  the  dream  to  human  gain,  in- 
tangible form  —  they  are  the  real  thing.  These  peo- 
ple here  haven't  the  decency  to  dream  nor  the  en- 
ergy to  do.  They  are  the  scum  on  the  surface. 
They  are  punk  —  most  of  'em.  Rotten." 

Sylvia  had  looked  around  her  a  little  startled. 
The  scene  had  looked  brilliant  and  appealing  to  her 
a  moment  ago.  Somehow  now  she  saw  it  through 
this  brutal  stranger's  eyes  a  "  Punch  and  Judy 
show."  She  shivered  slightly.  Suddenly  she  felt 
a  bit  like  a  little  girl  at  a  party,  grown  homesick, 


194  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

all  at  once,  ready  to  be  taken  home  quick.  For  she 
could  not  help  believing  her  neighbor  was  right. 
Underneath  the  glamour  and  the  beauty  and  the 
poise  and  the  breeding  around  her  there  was  a 
good  deal  that  was  more  or  less  "  rotten."  She  had 
seen  it  in  men's  eyes  and  heard  it  in  their  voices,  yes, 
in  the  women's,  too.  She  was  filled  with  a  great 
disgust  and  with  some  shame  as  well.  For  in  her 
zest  for  experience  had  she  not  let  her  own  shield 
get  a  little  dented  and  tarnished?  She  turned 
back  to  her  companion,  her  new  knowledge  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Why  did  you  tell  me  ?  "  she  reproached. 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  You  knew  it  without  my  telling 
you.  See  here,  girl,  I'm  going  to  Alaska  myself  to- 
morrow. I  can't  stand  much  of  this  sort  of  thing. 
I'd  like  to  think  you  were  going  to  pull  out,  too, 
before  the  taint  gets  you.  I  said  your  eyes  be- 
trayed you.  They  did.  But  it  isn't  only  that  you 
have  brains.  The  brains  are  there  but  there  is 
something  else  too.  You  have  faith.  You've  lived 
in  a  decent  sort  of  world  where  people  are  straight 
and  kind  and  honest  and  simple.  Better  go  back 
to  it  while  there  is  still  time." 

Sylvia  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.     "  I  believe  I  will." 


The  City  and  Sylvia  195 

Later  Jeanette  asked  her  what  she  had  found  to 
say  to  Archibald  Grant. 

"  He's  the  Arctic  Explorer  Grant,  you  know. 
Quite  the  biggest  toad  in  the  puddle  there,  to-night." 

"Was  he?"  Sylvia  had  looked  thoughtful.  "I 
didn't  know  who  he  was  but  we  had  rather  an  in- 
teresting talk.  Jeanette,  I've  got  to  go  home." 

"  Go  home !  Why,  Sylvia,  you  haven't  been  here 
two  weeks  yet !  " 

"  I  know.  But  I'm  incurably  a  home  person. 
I've  had  a  wonderful  time  but  I  want  to  see  Arden 
Hall  and  Felicia  and  — " 

"  Jack  ?  "  teased  Jack's  sister  languidly. 

Sylvia  flushed  a  little.  At  the  moment  it  did  seem 
as  if  she  would  be  very  glad,  indeed,  to  see  Jack. 
Jack  was  so  clean  and  young  and  joyous  and  whole- 
some. He  seemed  to  her  to  belong  to  a  different 
world  from  that  which  his  sister  inhabited.  But, 
after  all,  at  Jeanette's  insistence,  Sylvia  agreed  to 
stay  another  week. 

Jeanette  herself  was  almost  feverish  in  her  gayety 
these  days.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  she  could  not 
stop  if  she  tried,  as  if  "  all  the  devils  of  Hell  were 
loose  and  after  her  "  as  Jack  had  said.  She  was  a 
puzzle  to  Sylvia.  That  she  was  not  happy  was  ap- 
parent, but  she  was  always  gay,  talkative,  full  of 


196  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

quick  laughter  and  brilliant  plans  for  new  pleasures, 
something  fresh  every  hour.  There  were  always 
many  men  in  her  wake.  Usually  they  were  men  of 
brains,  men  "  who  did  things,"  as  the  phrase  goes, 
musicians,  writers,  artists  and  the  like.  Jeanette 
did  not  affect  fools,  as  she  had  said  curtly  to  Sylvia 
once.  She  had  brains  herself  and  used  them.  She 
was  rather  famous  and  rather  feared  for  her  some- 
what satirical  wit.  Her  husband  was  a  quiet,  schol- 
arly aristocrat,  who  spent  most  of  his  time  reading 
memoirs  of  somebody  or  rather  of  bringing  out  ele- 
gant "privately  printed"  monographs.  In  Jean- 
ette's  scheme  of  things  he  seemed  scarcely  to  count 
at  all,  beyond  the  essential  facts  of  having  provided 
her  with  an  extravagant  income  and  an  assured  place 
in  New  York  society.  To  do  her  justice,  however, 
Jeanette  was  by  no  means  dependent  upon  her  hus- 
band for  these  things.  She  made  her  own  circle 
wherever  she  went.  She  did  not  need  either  the 
Latham  money  or  name  to  assure  her  leadership. 
She  was  a  born  queen.  These  factors  were  merely 
contributing  circumstances. 

Among  Jeanette's  varied  and  numerous  retinue 
was  one  young  man  whom  Sylvia  found  less  easy 
than  the  others  to  place.  This  was  an  artist,  Charl- 
ton  Haynes  by  name,  a  newcomer  in  the  city  who  had 


The  City  and  Sylvia  197 

been  for  some  time  engaged  in  "  doing  "  Jeanette's 
portrait.  Wherever  Jeanette  was,  the  young  por- 
trait painter  appeared  to  be  also  by  some  magic 
process.  The  two  had  little  to  say  to  each  other  in 
public  but  Sylvia  had  noticed  more  than  once  how 
the  painter's  rather  gloomy  face  lit  up  when  Jean- 
ette approached,  giving  an  effect  much  like  a  sudden 
sunshine  after  a  passing  cloud.  More  than  once, 
too,  Sylvia  had  seen  a  flash  of  some  quick,  wordless 
communication  pass  between  them.  They  spent  long 
hours  together  mornings  in  the  great  ball-room 
where  he  worked  in  the  north  light.  When  Sylvia 
was  with  them,  as  she  sometimes  was,  the  artist 
was  rather  silent  and  absorbed  in  his  work  and  Sylvia 
thought  if  he  were  always  so  quiet  he  must  be  rather 
dull  company. 

One  morning  she  suffered  an  abrupt  enlightenment 
as  to  the  relations  between  her  hostess  and  the  artist. 
Jeanette  had  been  detained  and  had  asked  Sylvia  to 
go  to  the  ballroom  and  explain  to  Mr.  Haynes  that 
she  would  be  with  him  as  soon  as  possible.  As  Syl- 
via opened  the  door  he  had  turned  with  outstretched 
arms  and  an  impulsive  "  Sweetheart,  you  are  dread- 
fully late."  And  then  his  hands  had  fallen  and  a 
shamed,  hang-dog,  caught-in-the-act  expression  ban- 
ished the  eager  look  of  expectant  joy  on  his  face  as 


198  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

he   met   Sylvia's   eyes   and    saw    her   quick   flush. 

He  shrugged  and  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the  sit- 
uation by  a  hasty  "  Beg  pardon,  Miss  Sylvia.  I 
didn't  see  it  was  you." 

"  So  I  judged,"  said  Sylvia  and  delivered  her  mes- 
sage gravely  and  departed.  She  wondered  if  this 
was  what  Jack  had  guessed  and  if  that  was  why  he 
had  wanted  her  to  go  to  Jeanette.  Had  he  thought 
she  could  save  her  ?  Poor  Jeanette !  Could  any  one 
save  her  but  herself? 

Two  hours  later  Jeanette  came  to  Sylvia,  writing 
letters  in  her  own  room  at  the  little  teakwood  desk. 

"  Sylvia." 

"  Yes  ? "  Sylvia  had  turned,  wondering  what 
Jeanette  would  say,  wondering  almost  more  what 
she  herself  was  going  to  say. 

"  Charlton  says  he  gave  himself  away  awhile  ago, 
did  he?" 

"  Rather." 

"  I'm  sorry.  I  didn't  mean  you  to  know  for 
fear  it  might  bother  you.  Otherwise,  of  course,  I 
don't  mind  your  knowing.  We  have  been  in  love 
for  some  time.  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  anything 
to  do  about  it  at  present." 

Jeanette's  tone  was  impersonal.  She  might  as 
easily  have  been  discussing  the  relation  between  the 


The  City  and  Sylvia  199 

moon  and  the  tides  as  the  relation  between  herself 
and  Charlton  Haynes.  The  facts  existed.  That 
was  all  apparently.  At  least  all  Jeanette  cared  to 
admit. 

"Couldn't  he  go  away?"  asked  Sylvia,  equally 
matter  of  fact. 

"  He  could,  but  it  would  make  talk  if  he  went 
before  the  portrait  was  done.  Besides,  I  don't  want 
him  to  go.  He  offered  to.  It  is  I  who  am  keeping 
him.  I  hope  you  are  not  too  much  shocked,  Sylvia." 

"  I'm  not  shocked  at  all,  but  I  am  sorry.  Does 
Jack  know  ?  " 

"  Jack !  "  For  the  first  time,  Jeanette  showed  a 
quaver  of  emotion  in  her  voice.  "Jack!  Good 
gracious,  no!  Why  should  he?  I  wouldn't  have 
Jack  know  for  anything.  What  made  you  ask 
that?" 

"  Jack  tried  to  warn  me  something  about  you  be- 
fore I  came.  He  seemed  to  think  you  needed  me." 

And  suddenly  Jeanette's  calm  broke.  She  flung 
herself  face  down  among  the  silken  cushions  of  the 
couch.  Sylvia  came  and  knelt  beside  her  putting 
both  arms  around  her.  In  a  moment  Jeanette  sat 
up,  flushed  but  tearless.  Sylvia  slipped  back  upon 
the  floor,  her  hands  clasped  around  her  knees,  her 
eyes  pitiful. 


200  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  I  do  need  you.  I  need  somebody.  Sylvia,  listen 
to  me.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  for  a  girl  to  marry 
if  she  isn't  in  love.  Fate  is  sure  to  strike  back  at 
her  sooner  or  later.  That  is  what  happened  to  me. 
I  married  Francis  because  I  thought  he  could  give 
me  the  things  I  wanted  —  the  things  I  thought  I 
wanted.  And  he  has,  but  it  isn't  what  I  really 
wanted  at  all.  I  am  just  beginning  to  understand 
what  I  do  want  —  what  life  might  mean,  if  one  de- 
served to  have  it  mean  anything.  I  hate  this  house 
and  the  servants  and  the  hideous  kind  of  existence 
we  live  —  the  kind  I  elected  to  live.  It  wasn't 
Francis'  choice.  It  was  mine.  But  I  hate  it  all 
now.  I'd  like  to  leave  it  this  minute.  But  I  can't. 
I'm  bound,  hand  and  foot,  by  conventions  and  fears 
and  selfishness.  I  couldn't  live  now  without  luxury, 
I've  had  it  so  long.  I  couldn't  stand  poverty  or 
shame  or  sacrifice  or  honesty  of  any  kind.  I'm  a 
sham.  I  love  Charlton.  But  I  shan't  try  to  get  a 
divorce  and  I  shan't  run  off  with  him  because  I'm 
not  big  enough.  I'm  just  big  enough  to  squirm  and 
suffer  and  hate  myself  for  being  such  a  pitiful  little 
coward.  I'm  not  even  big  enough  to  send  him  away. 
I'm  not  worth  his  wrecking  his  life  and  ideals  for, 
but  I  don't  tell  him  that.  I  tell  him  I  love  him  and 
that  is  enough  to  keep  him  here  like  a  lap  dog. 


The  City  and  Sylvia  201 

Pah!  He  isn't  very  big  either  or  he  would  make 
me  go  with  him  or  leave  me  outright." 

"  But,  Jeanette,  it  is  all  such  a  tangle.  If  you 
really  care,  why  don't  you  go  to  Francis  and  tell  him 
the  truth?  Surely  nothing  can  be  so  bad  as  go- 
ing on  like  this." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
Sylvia.  I'd  die  before  I  would  go  to  Francis  and 
I'd  die  if  he  found  out,  but  I'm  going  on  risking 
everything  until  something  happens.  I  don't  know 
what." 

And  in  the  face  of  such  reasoning  or  non-reason- 
ing, Sylvia  had  no  answer  to  make.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  hate  the  city  heartily.  It  seemed  to  be 
weaving  nothing  but  misery  for  everybody.  Was 
there  any  happiness  in  it?  Surely  she  herself  had 
found  none.  She  desired  more  than  anything  else 
in  the  world  to  run  away  from  it  all,  to  get  back 
to  Felicia  and,  yes,  to  Jack.  They  two  seemed  the 
only  refuge  in  a  heaving  sea  of  trouble. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AS   MIGHT   HAVE  BEEN    EXPECTED 

IT  seemed  as  if  Sylvia's  cup  of  disenchantment 
were  destined  to  brim  over  before  the  city  was 
done  with  her.  She  tried  to  view  Jeanette's  affair 
with  the  portrait  painter  with  an  open  mind  and 
tolerant  attitude.  She  saw  that  there  was  no  real 
evil  in  it  as  yet  —  probably  never  would  be  for 
Jeanette  was  likely  to  "  play  safe  "  having  much  at 
stake.  But  somehow  it  all  disheartened  the  younger 
girl.  She  thought  she  could  have  forgiven  both  the 
transgressors  more  easily  if  they  had  dared  a  little 
more,  or  cared  a  little  more  for  each  other  and  less 
for  themselves.  If  they  had  eloped  she  would  have 
been  shocked  and  troubled  but  she  would  have  un- 
derstood their  conduct.  It  was  the  amazing  bad 
taste  and  effrontery  of  carrying  on  so  half-hearted 
a  liaison  in  Francis  Latham's  own  house  and  under 
his  very  eyes  which  was  to  Sylvia  the  least  excusable 
phase  of  the  matter.  Deceit  of  any  sort  was  ob- 
noxious to  her  straightforward  soul.  She  herself 

202 


As  Might  Have  Been  Expected     203 

could  never  have  kept  on  living  a  daily  lie  such 
as  Jeanette  was  living.  Something  would  have 
snapped.  And  somehow  Sylvia  found  herself  seeing 
things  all  around  her  blacker,  no  doubt,  than  they 
were,  because  of  her  too  much  recently  acquired 
knowledge,  and  often  she  remembered  the  explor- 
er's terse  verdict  that  these  people  were  "  punk." 
It  was  all  very  disillusioning  and  made  one  sick  at 
heart. 

But  Sylvia  had  other  cause  to  feel  that  happiness 
was  eluding  her  these  days  in  early  January.  The 
wound  to  her  pride  that  Phil  Lorrimer  had  dealt, 
though  seared  over,  was  by  no  means  healed.  She 
tried  to  be  perfectly  fair  and  sane,  to  admit  that  if 
Jeanette's  supposition  were  correct,  Barb  would 
doubtless  make  Phil  a  better  wife  than  she  herself 
would  have  done,  to  acknowledge  that  it  was  en- 
tirely natural  and  appropriate  that  Phil  and  Barb 
should  have  learned  to  care  for  each  other  during  the 
intimate  months  past  when  she  herself  had  deliber- 
ately neglected  Phil.  Even  so,  Phil  need  not  have 
looked  at  her  as  he  had  that  night  on  Jeanette's  door- 
step. He  needn't  have  let  her  all  but  propose  to 
him.  That  was  the  deepest  rankling  thorn  of  all. 
She  had  almost  offered  herself  to  him  on  Jeanette's 
threshold.  If  he  had  really  cared  as  his  eyes  had 


204  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

said  wouldn't  he  have  understood  what  she  was  try- 
ing to  tell  him  that  the  money  was  nothing  at  all, 
that  it  didn't  matter  in  the  least,  that  there  was,  in- 
deed, nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  as  she  had  twice  taken 
the  pains  to  reassure  him  ? 

If  he  had  really  cared  would  he  not  have  found 
means  to  see  her  during  her  weeks  with  Jeanette 
in  spite  of  her  mantle  of  invisibility?  It  was  all 
too  evident  that  he  didn't  care,  that  it  was  Barb 
who  could  give  him  what  he  wanted,  or  rather  let 
him  give  everything  as  his  pride  demanded.  Sylvia 
knew  perfectly  well  that  she  had  wanted  Phil  Lor- 
rimer  to  ask  her  to  marry  him,  knew  too,  that  she 
had  meant  to  say  yes  if  he  did  ask  her,  but  she  also 
knew  that  though  her  pride  was  offended,  her  heart 
was  far  from  being  broken.  Indeed,  love  in  its  en- 
tirety, in  its  heights  and  depths,  its  glory  and  its 
mortal  agony,  its  madness  and  its  abiding  joy,  she 
had  scarcely  as  yet  conceived. 

She  was  still  questing  experience,  tasting  life,  and 
even  the  bitter  flavor  of  this  last  new-gained  knowl- 
edge was  interesting  because  bitterness  was  new 
to  Sylvia  Arden.  Youth  drinks  its  gall  and  worm- 
wood with  almost  as  supreme  satisfaction  as  it  does 
its  nectar  and  ambrosia. 

Not  that  Sylvia  understood  all  this  or  consciously 


As  Might  Have  Been  Expected     205 

analyzed  her  mental  processes.  She  did  nothing  of 
the  sort.  She  only  knew  she  had  been  hurt,  and 
found  it  a  rather  fascinating  game  to  hide  the  hurt 
from  herself  and  the  rest  of  the  world. 

Perhaps  her  zest  for  the  hiding  game  made  her 
play  a  little  more  recklessly  with  the  men  who 
dogged  her  footsteps  than  was  entirely  wise  or  kind. 
Certainly  it  made  her  eyes  a  little  starrier,  her  cheeks 
a  little  deeper  carmine,  her  laugh  a  little  more  tan- 
talizing. Men  saw  and  smiled  and  said  the  little 
Maryland  "  Deb  "  was  a  queen,  a  beauty,  and  a  wit 
as  well  as  an  heiress,  an  unbelievably  lucky  com- 
bination. 

"  Knows  how  to  hold  her  own  too,"  they  agreed. 
"  She'll  lead  you  on  to  the  limit  and  then  when 
you  think  you  have  her  —  she  isn't  there.  Got  the 
elusive  game  to  perfection,  wherever  she  learned 
it." 

But  the  last  night  of  her  stay  in  the  city  Sylvia 
came  near  playing  her  game  an  inch  too  far.  There 
had  been  a  theater  party  and  supper  afterward  at 
the  Astor  and  when  at  last  they  started  for  home 
she  chanced  to  get  separated  from  Jeanette  who, 
supposing  her  guest  was  with  her  husband,  had  gone 
on  in  another  car. 

"  Why !  "  exclaimed   Sylvia,   from  the  curbing. 


206  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  I  do  believe  they  have  all  deserted  me.  There 
goes  Jeanette,  and  Francis  went  with  the  Homers." 

"  Well,  here  am  I !  "  challenged  Porter  Robinson, 
at  her  elbow.  Porter  Robinson  was  the  most  dar- 
ing and  insistent  of  all  the  swarmers  about  the 
most  popular  new  rose.  "  Whither  thou  goest  I  will 
go!  Here,  Cabby,"  and  his  uplifted  finger  sum- 
moned a  taxicab  in  which  he  and  Sylvia  were  in  a 
moment  ensconced. 

It  was  a  wonderful  night.  Brilliant  stars  studded 
the  heavens  and  the  trees  in  the  park  were  laden 
with  a  fleecy  burden  of  new-fallen  snow.  The  little 
girl  still  in  Sylvia  who  loved  snow  storms  and  had 
too  little  of  them  in  Maryland  cried  out  in  ecstasy 
at  the  sight. 

"  Oh-h !  Couldn't  we  drive  in  there  a  little  and 
see  it?  It's  so  lovely  after  the  lights  and  the  crowd 
—  like  a  different  world !  " 

Naturally  Porter  Robinson  had  no  objections  to 
driving  at  midnight  in  a  closed  cab  through  the 
park  with  the  prettiest,  liveliest,  most  piquant  girl 
he  had  met  in  many  a  season. 

But  a  half  hour  later  Sylvia  flashed  into  the 
library  at  the  Lathams  with  wrath  and  shame  in  her 
heart  and  ran  square  into  Jack  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  fireplace. 


As  Might  Have  Been  Expected     207 

"Ugh!     I  hate  men,"  she  greeted  him  stormily. 

"  You  do !  What's  up  ?  Where  is  Jeanette  ? 
You  look  like  a  Valkyr  or  an  avenging  fury." 

"  I  don't  know  where  Jeanette  is.  Porter  Robin- 
son brought  me  home." 

"  Oh,"  comprehended  Jack.  "  So  that  is  the 
rumpus.  Didn't  Porter  behave  like  a  perfect  gentle- 
man?" 

"  He  did  not."  Sylvia  threw  off  her  cloak  with 
a  wrathful  gesture,  leaving  her  slim,  rounded  young 
loveliness,  clad  in  the  white  tulle  and  gold  "  dream," 
suddenly  revealed  to  Jack's  eyes.  "  He  tried  to  kiss 
me,  if  you  must  know." 

"And  what  did  you  expect  at  this  time  of  night 
when  you  had  shed  your  lawful  chaperones?"  in- 
quired Jack  blandly.  "  Especially  after  you  had 
been  flirting  like  the  mischief  with  him  all  the  eve- 
ning!" 

Sylvia  slipped  into  a  chair  and  stared  up  at  Jack. 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  "  she  asked  with  aston- 
ished meekness. 

Jack  laughed. 

"  Didn't.  I  just  guessed.  So  you  did  flirt  with 
him  like  the  mischief  ?  " 

"I  —  shouldn't  wonder,"  admitted  Sylvia  with  a 
grimace.  "  He's  a  beast,  but  then  maybe  I  was  a 


208  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

little  to  blame.  I  suppose  I  shouldn't  have  asked 
him  to  take  me  riding  in  the  park  at  this  time  of 
night." 

"  Possibly  not,"  agreed  Jack. 

"  You  wouldn't  have  taken  advantage  of  a  situa- 
tion like  that,  Jack.  You  know  you  wouldn't." 

"  H-m-m?  "  interrogated  Jack  dubiously.  "  That 
so?  If  you  looked  one  half  as  pretty  in  the  cab  as 
you  do  this  minute,  I'm  morally  or  immorally  cer- 
tain I  should  not  only  have  tried  to  kiss  you  but 
have  succeeded." 

"Jack!" 

"  Like  this !  "  And  suddenly,  to  Sylvia's  utter 
surprise,  he  had  stooped  and  kissed  her  full  on  one 
crimson,  excited  cheek.  "  Game's  up,  sweetheart. 
My  turn.  You've  had  your  fling,  and  I  guess  from 
all  Jeanette  writes  it  has  been  a  pretty  lively  one. 
Honest  Injun,  Sylvia,  aren't  you  sick  of  it  all,  ready 
to  try  it  out  on  a  different  line  with  me  ?  No,  don't 
speak  just  yet.  I'm  not  quite  through.  I  promised 
I  would  get  busy  and  show  you  I  could  hold  down 
a  man's  job  if  necessary.  Well,  I've  done  it.  I'm 
not  boasting,  but  you  can  ask  Dad  if  I  haven't  made 
good  and  kept  my  promise  to  the  letter.  That  is  all 
on  that  subject.  Secondly,  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a 
saint,  but  thanks  to  you  and  the  Christmas  Family 


As  Might  Have  Been  Expected     209 

setting  me  straight  some  years  ago  I'm  a  fairly  de- 
cent specimen  as  men  go.  I  believe  I'd  show  up 
moderately  well  by  comparison  with  the  Porter 
Robinsons  and  the  rest  That  is  all  of  that. 
Thirdly,  I  love  you.  There  isn't  any  other  girl, 
never  has  been,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  never  will 
be.  Now  —  did  you  mind  very  much  having  me 
kiss  you?  " 

Sylvia's  eyes  were  demurely  downcast,  her  cheeks 
flushed,  but  a  quiver  of  a  smile  appeared  around  the 
corners  of  her  mouth. 

"  Not  much.  I  rather  think  I  —  I  liked  it  —  a 
little,"  she  admitted. 

That  was  enough  for  Jack,  and  five  minutes  later 
when  Jeanette  came  in  she  found  him  on  the  arm 
of  Sylvia's  chair,  her  tulle  and  gold  rather  crushed 
and  mussed  but  with  her  eyes  looking  very  starry. 

He  sprang  up  with  alacrity  as  his  sister  entered 
and  went  to  give  her  a  brotherly  kiss. 

"  'Lo,  Jeannie.  Sylvia  and  I  have  just  got  en- 
gaged. Hope  you  don't  mind  ?  " 

Jeanette  shot  a  straight,  questioning,  dubious 
look  at  Sylvia  then  remarked  she  was  delighted,  of 
course,  and  if  they  would  excuse  her  she  would  go 
to  bed  as  she  was  very  tired.  Sylvia  had  vaguely 
realized  at  the  moment  that  Jeanette  was  white,  but 


210  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

it  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  she  understood. 
Charlton  Haynes  had  left  suddenly  for  California  on 
the  midnight  train  and  he  and  Jeanette  had  appar- 
ently parted  for  all  time.  Of  what  lay  behind  Syl- 
via could  not  even  surmise  and  Jeanette  kept  her 
own  counsel.  At  any  rate,  Sylvia  was  able  to  per- 
ceive that  under  the  circumstances  the  other  woman 
had  little  enthusiasm  left  over  for  the  love  affairs 
of  even  her  sole  and  beloved  brother. 

And  that  next  afternoon  Sylvia  and  Jack  went 
South  together,  and  the  Minotaur  did  not  get  Sylvia 
after  all.  But  whether  she  had  not  stepped  blithely 
into  a  deeper  labyrinth  than  the  one  she  had  evaded 
was  another  question. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

BARB   DIAGNOSES 

THE  evening  that  culminated  in  Sylvia's  engage- 
ment to  Jack,  Phil  had  spent  with  Barbara.  Barb 
had  discovered  that  it  was  neither  impossible  nor 
very  difficult  to  slip  back  into  the  beaten  way  of 
friendship  with  the  young  doctor,  especially  as  he 
himself  had  never  left  that  safe  and  sane  path  and 
had  no  faintest  conception  of  the  mad  little,  sad 
little  detour  the  girl  had  accomplished  beneath  his 
very  eyes.  Barb  was  a  very  wise  and  brave  little 
lady  and  having  realized  that  she  had  been  reaching 
for  the  moon  withdrew  her  hand  and  made  the  most 
she  could  out  of  every  day  sunbeams.  Phil  never 
guessed  that  his  occasional  visits  to  Miss  Murray's 
apartment  were  rather  bittersweet  occasions  to  Barb, 
nor  did  he  notice  that  she  was  quieter,  graver,  not 
quite  so  responsive  as  he  had  hitherto  found  her. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Phil  wasn't  seeing  much  of  any- 
thing these  days  except  his  own  stolidly  endured 

211 


212  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

misery.  It  had  been  bad  enough  to  know  Sylvia  was 
in  Greendale  where  he  couldn't  see  her  at  all,  but  to 
know  she  was  within  easy  reach  and  yet  farther 
from  him  to  all  intents  and  purposes  than  if  an 
ocean  or  a  desert  separated  them  was  incomparably 
worse. 

He  hated  Jeanette  Latham's  kind  of  life,  hated  to 
have  Sylvia's  fresh  radiance  tarnished  by  its  contact, 
hated  to  think  of  her,  night  after  night,  in  the  society, 
even  in  the  arms  of  the  Porter  Robinsons  of  Jean- 
ette's  circle,  jealous  of  it  all  because  it  kept  Sylvia 
from  him,  hurt  that  she  would  give  up  none  of  her 
gayeties  for  his  sake,  blindly  conscious  that  he  had 
offended  her,  though  only  half  guessing  how  and  to 
what  extent. 

One  night  he  had  been  at  the  opera,  way  up  in 
the  upper  tiers,  as  was  his  custom,  and  between  the 
acts  he  had  wandered  about  in  the  galleries  and 
seen  Sylvia  in  a  box  below,  surrounded  by  a  swarm 
of  devoted  male  attendants,  and  he  had  watched  her 
with  mingled  gloom  and  avidity.  She  was  so  lovely 
in  her  chiffons  and  furs  and  her  exquisite  youth- 
fulness  and  grace,  her  face  uplifted,  her  hair  shining 
in  the  light  like  burnished  copper,  her  lips  parted 
with  laughter.  She  seemed  so  eminently  a  part  of 
the  picture  to  fit  into  the  brilliant  scene  as  a  dia- 


Barb  Diagnoses  213 

mond  sparkles  appropriately  in  its  hoop  of  gold  that 
Phil's  heart  sank  heavier  than  ever.  Well,  it  only 
proved  he  had  been  right.  What  had  he  to  offer 
Sylvia  in  exchange  for  all  this?  She  belonged  to 
it  and  it  to  her,  as  a  bird  belongs  to  the  air. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  intensity  of  his  gaze  that  had 
made  Sylvia  look  up.  At  any  rate  she  raised  her 
eyes  and  met  his,  staring  hungrily  down  at  her.  The 
exciting,  haunting  music  of  Tristan  and  Isolde  had 
stirred  strange  deeps  in  Sylvia,  begotten  an  elan  of 
flesh  and  soul  which  flared  like  a  pure  flame  in  her 
eye  at  the  moment.  The  man  at  her  side,  Porter 
Robinson,  as  it  happened,  saw  the  look  and  followed 
her  gaze  with  curiosity  to  see  what  had  lit  the  flame. 
But  in  all  that  sea  of  faces  he  had  no  means  of  dis- 
tinguishing the  one  which  stood  out  for  the  girl  as  if 
it  had  been  the  one  face  in  the  world.  In  a  second 
she  had  turned  away  and  lowered  her  eyes. 

"What  was  it?"  asked  her  companion.  "Did 
you  see  a  vision  ?  " 

"Maybe,"  said  Sylvia.  "Hush!  The  music  is 
beginning." 

All  the  rest  of  the  evening  she  half  hoped  Phil 
would  seek  her  out  in  the  box  but  he  had  not  come. 
And  the  next  night  had  been  the  one  when  she  had 
discovered  Porter  Robinson  was  a  beast  and  an  hour 


214  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

later  had  found  herself  rather  unexpectedly  en- 
gaged to  Jack  Amidon. 

As  for  Phil,  his  will  tugged  at  its  moorings  that 
night.  He,  too,  had  been  moved  by  the  music,  and 
even  more  by  the  challenge  of  Sylvia's  eyes.  He 
had  telephoned  her  the  next  day  to  try  to  make  an 
engagement  with  her  for  the  evening  but  Sylvia  was 
submerged  with  engagements,  had  a  tea,  a  dinner,  a 
theater  party,  and  so  forth,  already  on  hand,  and 
her  voice  over  the  telephone  was  as  cool  and  remote 
as  a  mountain  stream.  She  even  forgot  to  tell  him 
she  was  leaving  the  city  the  next  day.  Sylvia's  pride 
in  its  way  matched  Phil's  own. 

And  so  instead  of  spending  the  evening  with  Syl- 
via, Phil  had  dropped  in  to  see  Barbara,  which  is 
where  this  chapter  really  began. 

He  was  certainly  anything  but  good  company  that 
night.  He  sat  somberly  looking  into  the  fire,  an- 
swering Barb's  casual  chatter  with  brief  absent- 
minded  monosyllables.  Barb,  watching  out  of  the 
corner  of  her  eye,  and  with  the  sure  intuition  that 
love  teaches,  guessed  the  source  of  his  gloom.  She 
forgot  all  about  her  own  hurt  in  sorrow  for  his 
and  longed  with  all  the  mother  in  her  to  comfort 
him.  Suddenly  the  silence  which  had  fallen  became 
intolerable,  the  weight  of  the  unspoken  thing  too 


Barb  Diagnoses  215 

heavy  to  be  endured  another  minute.  So  out  of  a 
clear  sky  Barb  dropped  a  bomb. 

"  Phil,  why  don't  you  ask  Sylvia  to  marry  you?  " 

Phil  jumped  and  stared  and  frowned. 

"  Reasons  sufficiently  obvious  I  should  say.  The 
gown  and  the  furs  and  the  pearls  she  had  on  last 
night  probably  cost  more  than  my  year's  income." 

"  What  of  it  ?  Gowns  and  furs  and  pearls  aren't 
important.  There  are  things  that  Sylvia  cares  much 
more  about." 

"What?" 

"  You,"  was  on  the  tip  of  Barb's  tongue,  but  she 
did  not  say  it.  After  all,  that  was  for  Sylvia  to  say. 
She  had  no  means  of  knowing  how  Sylvia  felt  except 
that  vivid  memory  of  the  way  the  other  girl's  eyes 
had  looked  that  night  on  Lover's  Leap. 

"  Happiness,  for  one  thing,"  she  substituted. 
"  Phil  Lorrimer,  don't  you  know  Sylvia  Arden  well 
enough  to  know  the  things  that  money  buys  are  not 
the  real  things  —  the  things  she  cares  for.  She  is 
willing  to  play  with  them  while  she  is  waiting.  Who 
wouldn't?  I  would  myself,  if  I  had  the  chance. 
But  Sylvia  never  mixes  things  up.  She  knows  what 
counts  and  what  doesn't  count  as  well  as  anybody 
I  know.  If  you  think  her  having  money  and  your 
not  having  it  makes  the  slightest  difference  to  her, 


216  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

you're  even  stupider  than  I  gave  you  credit  for." 
Barb  had  warmed  to  her  subject  and  did  not  care  if 
the  lash  of  her  tongue  did  sting  a  little.  She  rather 
thought  Phil  Lorrimer  needed  a  sting  or  two.  She 
had  forgotten  for  the  moment  she  had  ever  been  in 
love  with  this  young  man  herself.  She  remembered 
only  she  was  a  woman  speaking  for  her  sex  in  plain 
round  terms. 

"  You  mean  Sylvia  wants  me  to  ask  her  to  marry 
her?" 

Barb  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  that.  That  is  be- 
tween you  two.  What  I  do  know,  and  what  I  am 
trying  to  tell  you,  is  that  the  modern  woman  despises 
a  man  just  as  much  for  not  wanting  to  ask  her  to 
marry  him  because  she  has  money  as  she  does  for 
wanting  to  ask  her  to  marry  him  because  she  has  it. 
That  kind  of  idea  is  ancient  and  exploded  and  idiotic 
and  disgusting." 

Phil  threw  out  his  hand  in  half  humorous,  half 
serious  protest. 

"  My  word !  What  an  avalanche !  So  you  think 
it  is  thoroughly  contemptible  in  me  to  care  whether 
the  woman  I  marry  has  a  million  dollars  or  not  when 
I  haven't  a  red  cent  ?  " 

"I   do,"   asserted   Barb   stoutly.     "The   money 


Barb  Diagnoses  217 

isn't  any  of  your  affair,  any  more  than  the  kind  of 
knife  you  use  on  the  operating  table  is  hers,  or 
the  color  of  your  hair  or  eyes,  for  that  matter.  It 
just  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"  What  is  my  affair  ?  What  is  the  male  end  of 
the  bargain,  according  to  the  latest  approved  fem- 
inistic standards  ? " 

"  It's  the  male  end  of  the  bargain,  if  you  choose 
to  put  it  that  way,  to  give  a  woman  love  and  re- 
spect and  comradeship,  a  clean,  strong,  healthy 
body  and  mind  and  soul,  to  be  the  kind  of  man 
she  would  like  the  father  of  her  children  to  be. 
I  believe  that  is  about  all.  Read  Beatrice  Forbes- 
Robinson  Hale's  chapter  on  the  '  New  Man '  and 
you'll  understand  why  Sylvia's  money  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  case  and  why  your  pride  is  stupid 
and  conceited  and  old-fashioned,  a  relic  of  the  time 
when  man  expected  to  be  the  sole  provider  and  ex- 
pected his  wife  to  be  the  chief  parasite  of  the  family, 
when  he  gloried  in  his  high  and  mighty  superiority 
and  expected  her  to  be  meekly  grateful  and  appre- 
ciative of  said  superiority.  Now,  do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  A  little,"  said  Phil  Lorrimer  slowly.  "  Thank 
you,  Barb.  Maybe  I  have  been  an  idiot,  as  you  say. 
It  takes  you  to  clear  away  the  rubbish  in  a  fellow's 


218  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

mind.  Jack  tried  to  tell  me  the  same  thing  and,  well, 
I  guess  Sylvia  tried,  too,  only  she  didn't  put  it  as 
violently  visible  as  you  have,  and  I  threw  the  words 
back  in  her  face  like  the  donkey  I  am.  Barb,  do  you 
believe  there  is  any  chance  she'll  forgive  me  ?  "  he 
begged  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  know  how  much  she  has  to  forgive," 
retorted  Barb  shortly.  "  But  you  had  better  be 
about  it  before  her  forgiveness  is  all  she  has  left  to 
give.  You  can't  expect  a  girl  like  Sylvia  to  sit  down 
and  wait  for  a  man  to  get  his  eyes  open  like  a  Malt- 
ese kitten.  I  suppose  you  know  Jack  is  hot  on  the 
trail,  and  no  doubt  there  are  plenty  of  others  here 
in  New  York." 

"  Lord !  Don't  I  know  it  ?  "  Phil  got  to  his  feet. 
"  You  needn't  rub  it  in,  Barb.  I'm  scared  enough 
on  that  score  already  and  jealous  as  the  old  one. 
I'd  have  liked  to  drop  asphyxiating  gas  on  the  moon- 
faced calf  I  saw  with  her  last  night  at  the  opera, 
looking  as  if  he  owned  her.  Gee!  I've  got  to  get 
out  and  let  the  air  circulate  through  my  brains  a 
little.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  a  hot  box  up  there."  He 
gave  his  tawny  head  a  thump.  "  Honest,  Barb,  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you  for  your  efficiently  brutal  treat- 
ment. You  are  some  doctor,  all  right." 

And  in  his  genuine  gratitude  Phil  started  to  seize 


Barb  Diagnoses  219 

both  Barb's  small  hands  in  his,  but  she  backed  away, 
fearful  perhaps  lest  he  see  more  than  she  wanted, 
now  that  his  eyes  were  unsealed  in  other  respects. 
In  a  moment  he  was  gone  and  Barb  walked  de- 
liberately over  to  the  mirror  and  surveyed  her 
flushed  face  and  big,  excited  eyes. 

"  They  say  a  critic  is  a  man  who  can't  write.  I 
begin  to  think  a  reformer  —  at  least,  a  woman  re- 
former—  is  a  woman  who  can't  have  what  she 
wants.  Maybe  I  can  get  the  sacred  fire  after  all. 
Wonder  if  Aunt  Jo  got  it  —  my  way." 

Barb  laughed  a  little  tremulously  and  then  picked 
up  a  volume  of  Ellen  Key  and  sat  down  to  read  as 
hard  as  she  could. 

Her  brain  was  very  clear  that  night  it  seemed. 
She  felt  as  if  she  could  have  written  a  book  about 
woman  herself. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  CAUSE  AND  THE  CAREER 

FOR  two  weeks  after  that  Barb  saw  nothing  of 
Phil,  a  fact  for  which  she  was  exceedingly  grateful. 
The  news  of  Sylvia's  engagement  had  come  up 
from  Greendale,  and  Barb  had  no  wish  to  see  the 
look  which  she  knew  would  be  in  Phil's  blue  eyes,  if 
he  too,  had  heard,  as  no  doubt  he  had.  Neither  had 
she  any  desire  to  say  "  I  told  you  so,"  though  it  was 
her  right.  Her  warning,  though  late,  had  been 
justified.  No  one  could  expect  Sylvia  Arden  to  sit 
down  and  wait  "  for  a  man  to  get  his  eyes  open 
like  a  Maltese  kitten."  Sylvia  had  not  waited,  and 
Phil's  eyes  were  open  at  least  twenty-four  hours 
too  late. 

The  next  time  Phil  and  Barb  met  was  at  a  public 
meeting.  Miss  Murray  had  been  scheduled  to 
speak  but  at  the  last  moment  had  succumbed  to 
laryngitis,  and  Barbara,  dismayed  and  protesting, 
had  been  haled  into  the  breach. 

It  was  the  first  time  Barb  had  ever  spoken  in  pub- 
220 


The  Cause  and  the  Career          221 

lie,  though  she  had  more  than  once  sat  on  platforms 
with  her  aunt,  striving  to  look  dignified  and  im- 
pressive and  generally  worthy  of  the  "  mantle." 
She  was  desperately  frightened  now  and  when  she 
finally  rose  to  face  the  audience,  which  was  made 
up  mostly  of  women  of  the  working-class,  her  knees 
shook  and  her  throat  felt  as  if  she  were  trying  to 
swallow  the  whole  Sahara  Desert.  The  upturned 
faces  paralyzed  her  forces.  She  wished  an  earth- 
quake would  come  and  dispose  of  the  audience  and 
bury  herself  in  eternal  oblivion.  And  then  sud- 
denly behind  those  weary-eyed,  apathetic  faces  in  the 
foreground,  she  saw  Phil  Lorrimer's  friendly,  en- 
couraging eyes  and  some  tension  within  her  snapped. 
She  began  to  talk  slowly  at  first,  and  then  more 
swiftly,  borne  along  on  the  current  of  her  own  surg- 
ing thought  and  emotion.  She  never  knew  after- 
ward quite  what  she  said.  She  seemed  to  have 
talked  more  about  happiness  than  about  enfranchise- 
ment. Perhaps  the  women  who  listened  were  more 
interested  in  happiness  than  they  were  in  the  vote 
anyway.  At  all  events,  they  listened  respectfully, 
even  eagerly,  as  Barbara  Day  painted  for  them  her 
crystal  clear  vision  of  a  world  where  women  were 
to  be  neither  drudges  nor  toys,  but  honored  co- 
workers,  laboring  in  joyous  self-expression,  side  by 


222  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

side  with  men,  a  world  where  motherhood  should 
be  respected  and  supported  by  the  nation,  where  edu- 
cation should  be  open  not  to  the  favored  few  but  to 
the  many,  a  world  where  war  and  brutality  and 
slavery,  of  soul  and  body,  and  all  blood  guiltiness 
should  be  impossible,  a  world  enlightened,  free, 
strong,  glad.  And  this  millennium,  the  women  of 
America  were  to  help  to  bring  about,  must  help  if 
they  were  to  save  themselves  and  their  sisters  —  so 
Barbara  Day  told  them.  "  We  have  to  work  to- 
gether. Whatever  we  are,  the  one  thing  we  cannot 
be  is  indifferent  —  you  and  I  —  we  must  be  awake 
—  wide  awake." 

And  with  that  Barb  had  slipped  shyly  back  into 
her  seat  amid  the  applause  which  greeted  her  little 
speech,  terribly  frightened  again  now  it  was  all 
over  and  wondering  if  it  had  not  been  intolerably 
presumptuous  in  her  to  have  spoken  at  all,  much 
less  present  so  portentous  a  plea. 

There  were  other  speeches  but  Barb  scarcely  heard 
them.  She  fell  into  a  revery,  in  which  she  carried 
the  vision  she  had  shared  with  these  women  on  and 
on  until  it  became  almost  as  the  new  Jerusalem  in 
its  transcendent  splendor. 

And  in  her  vision  she  seemed  to  see  why  it  had 
been  given  her  to  desire  and  to  have  no  fruition  of 


The  Cause  and  the  Career          223 

desire,  to  know  the  flare  of  happiness  and  to  know 
happiness  gone  out  like  a  wind  blown  candle,  to 
understand  what  it  was  to  be  acquainted  with  heart- 
ache and  loneliness.  For  all  these  things  would 
teach  her  how  other  women  yearned  and  suffered 
and  were  denied.  If  she  herself  had  found  her 
heart's  desire  in  a  good  man's  protecting  love,  in 
the  warm  glow  of  her  own  hearth  fires,  with  her 
own  children  in  her  arms,  would  she  have  desired 
so  poignantly  to  help  these  others  to  find  life  more 
abundant?  By  the  measure  of  what  she  "had  lost, 
had  she  not  gained? 

"  Happiness  left  us  content  with  happiness  but 
sorrow  bids  us  rise  up  and  seek  something  divine," 
says  some  one,  and  Barbara  Day  had  come  to  un- 
derstand this  with  many  other  things.  As  the  old 
music  teacher  had  said :  "  Love  is  the  great  Mas- 
ter." 

The  hint  of  the  "  Something  divine  "  was  still  in 
Barb's  eyes  when  she  took  Phil's  outstretched  hand 
in  the  doorway  where  he  waited.  He  had  meant 
to  congratulate  her  on  her  speech  but  somehow  the 
words  evaporated  before  the  look  on  her  face  as  she 
lifted  it  to  him.  He  saw  she  had  been  in  some  far, 
high  place  where  he  could  not  follow  and  the  spell 
was  still  upon  her. 


224  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  here?"  she  asked 
presently,  as  they  made  their  way  to  the  Subway 
together  in  silence. 

"  Your  aunt  sent  me  word.  I  am  tremendously 
grateful.  I  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  anything. 
Barb,  you  made  me  understand  a  whole  lot  of 
things." 

She  flashed  him  a  quick,  startled  glance.  She  did 
not  wish  him  to  understand  too  much.  But  she  need 
not  have  feared.  Phil  was  as  blind  as  ever  so  far 
as  she  was  concerned. 

"  You  are  a  wonder,  Barbie.  I'm  a  little  scared 
of  you  all  at  once.  I  am  afraid  I  haven't  been  quite 
appreciating  what  an  angel  I  was  entertaining  —  or 
rather  letting  entertain  me." 

"  Don't.  If  you  mean  that  silly  speech,  you 
needn't  talk.  I  feel  as  humble  as  —  that  puddle," 
groping  for  a  simile  she  happened  to  let  her  gaze 
fall  upon  a  pool  which  a  recent  shower  had  left  in 
the  gutter. 

Phil  smiled. 

"  There's  a  star  reflected  in  the  puddle,"  he  said 
gently,  then  dropped  the  subject  as  she  obviously 
desired. 

As  they  stood  in  the  crowded  Subway  later  there 
was  little  chance  for  conversation,  but  Barb  no- 


The  Cause  and  the  Career         225 

ticed  that  Phil  looked  worn  and  tired,  almost  hag- 
gard. Her  heart  was  very  tender  for  him.  It 
didn't  matter  how  much  she  was  hurt.  Barb  sensed 
intuitively  that  women  were  meant  to  be  hurt.  But 
that  Phil  should  suffer  was  all  but  intolerable.  She 
almost  hated  Sylvia  who  had  brought  that  look  to 
his  eyes.  Alas!  What  a  jumble  things  were! 
How  changed  everything  was  since  that  happy  Sep- 
tember week  with  Sylvia  at  Arden  Hall!  She  re- 
membered how  Suzanne  had  rallied  Sylvia  on  her 
fitness  for  matrimony  and  charged  herself  in  jest 
with  having  designs  on  Phil  Lorrimer.  Funny 
Suzanne!  Poor  Suzanne!  What  was  she  do- 
ing? 

It  happened  at  the  moment  Suzanne  was  sitting 
by  the  fire  in  Miss  Murray's  apartment,  doing  abso- 
lutely nothing  for  the  first  time  in  many  strenuous 
weeks.  There  Barbara  and  Phil  found  her  a  few 
moments  later,  to  their  unbounded  astonishment. 

"  Well,  aren't  you  going  to  greet  the  returning 
prodigal  ?  "  asked  Suzanne,  getting  up. 

Whereupon  Barb  recovered  sufficiently  to  throw 
her  arms  around  her  friend  with  a  series  of  little 
rapturous,  inarticulate,  affectionate  gurgles  such 
as  women  occasionally  indulge  in. 

When  she  had  finished  it  was  Phil's  turn,  and 


226  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

though  his  greeting  was  more  decorous,  it  was  no 
less  hearty. 

"  Where  have  I  been  ?  I  know  that  is  what  you 
are  bursting  to  ask.  Sit  down  all  and  let  me  tell  you. 
Dearly  beloved,  I  have  been  on  the  road.  No,  not 
selling  petticoats  like  the  immortal  Emma,  but  in 
the  chorus  of  '  The  Prettiest  Princess/  and  it's  been 
worth  a  fortune  to  me." 

"  In  the  chorus !  Oh,  Suzanne !  What  did  your 
father  and  mother  say  ?  " 

"  They  haven't  said  anything  up  to  present  speak- 
ing, for  the  very  good  reason  that  they  don't  know 
what  I've  been  up  to.  I  told  them  I  was  traveling. 
I  was.  Gee!  How  I've  traveled!  I  also  told 
them  I  had  been  visiting  Aunt  Selina  in  Salt  Lake 
City.  I  did  visit  Aunt  Selina.  I  spent  a  week 
with  her  while  the  *  Prettiest  Princess '  and  her 
retinue  delighted  the  enthusiastic  Mormon  gentle- 
men. For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  stare  so,  Barb!  I 
assure  you  both  my  virtue  and  my  looks  are  unim- 
paired. You  can  see  the  latter  for  yourself." 

Suzanne  whirled  round  to  the  mirror  as  if  to  as- 
sure herself  that  her  statement  was  true.  Certainly 
the  others  could  see  for  themselves  that  Suzanne 
had  never  looked  prettier  in  her  life. 

Little   by    little   the   story   came   out,    delivered 


The  Cause  and  the  Career         227 

with  much  glee  and  gusto  by  the  irrepressible  Su- 
zanne. That  night  Phil  had  found  her  in  the  Square 
she  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  resources  and  knew 
something  had  to  be  done  at  once  if  she  were  going 
to  avoid  an  ignominious  return  to  Norton,  Pa.,  or 
the  sacrifice  of  her  pride  to  ask  for  an  advance  of 
money.  A  manager  had  refused  her  latest  play  that 
day  but  even  as  he  had  done  so  he  had  offered  her 
a  place  in  the  third  company  of  the  musical  com- 
edy he  was  just  starting  on  the  road.  Suzanne  had 
asked  for  a  night  to  consider  and  she  had  been  con- 
sidering when  Phil  had  interrupted  her  meditations. 
In  his  society,  too,  she  had  decided  to  take  the  offer. 
The  next  day  she  had  become  a  member  of  the  third 
company  and  the  next  was  "  on  the  road." 
"Why  did  you  come  home?  Show  bust?" 
"  Indeed,  no.  The  '  Prettiest  Princess  '  goes  on 
as  cheerfully  as  may  be  lacking  its  most  charming 
first  row  right  chorus  girl." 

"Fired?"  still  further  inquired  Phil. 
"  Nope.     Resigned.     Came   into   a   fortune   and 
flew  back  to  the  Great  White  Way  instanter." 
"  What  kind  of  a  fortune  ?     Anybody  died  ?  " 
"  Thank    goodness   no.     On   the    contrary.     An 
editor  came  to  life.     I've  sold  a  series  of  stories  to 
the  Ultra  Urban,  two  hundred  plunks  per.     '  Melissa 


228  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

on  the  Road '  is  the  general  title,  Melissa  being,  of 
course,  Suzanne,  thinly  disguised.  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  make  copy  out  of  myself  and  I  did. 
I've  given  things  so  close  to  the  way  they  really 
were  that  every  one  will  swear  they  are  fiction  of  the 
most  romancy  order." 

"  Are  they  coming  out  under  your  own  name?  " 
Barb  found  breath  to  ask. 

"  No.  I  thought  they  might  begin  to  appear  be- 
fore I  had  a  chance  to  explain  things,  so  it  seemed 
better  to  break  the  shock,  as  it  were.  They  are 
anonymous,  which  will  make  them  more  spicy." 

"  Good  for  you!  "  chuckled  Phil.  "  I'll  bet  they 
are  spicy  all  right." 

"  But  the  best  isn't  told.  I've  written  a  play  —  a 
real  play  that  is  going  to  make  the  managers  sit  up 
on  their  haunches  and  beg  prettily.  And  I've  got  a 
Star  in  my  crown  —  I  mean  in  my  circle  of  friends 
—  who  wants  to  play  the  lead.  What  do  you  think 
of  that?  Let  Broadway  stop,  look,  and  listen.  Su- 
zanne is  coming,  Hurray !  Hurray !  "  she  chanted. 
"  I'll  cause  more  of  a  sensation  than  my  predeces- 
sor at  the  bath.  Now,  tell  me  the  news." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OH,  SUZANNE! 

IT  was  not  until  Phil  had  gone  and  Barb  and 
Suzanne  were  reduced  to  the  intimate  kimono  and 
pigtail  state  that  Barb  got  the  full  force  of  the 
stream  of  Suzanne's  confidences. 

"  When  I  think  what  a  fool  I  was  only  just  last 
September  I  could  weep,  if  only  it  weren't  so  kill- 
ingly  funny."  Suzanne  sat  up  in  bed  to  announce. 
"  I  thought  because  I  had  a  pretty  knack  of  juggling 
words  and  a  little  mother  wit  I  could  just  walk  right 
in  and  conquer  the  literary  and  dramatic  world  as 
easy  as  anything.  The  trouble  with  college  is  it 
gives  you  an  over-dose  of  fine  spun  theories  about 
life  and  doesn't  teach  you  a  thing  about  being  up 
against  the  real  article.  Maybe  it  couldn't.  I  guess 
we  all  have  to  knock  that  lesson  out  of  the  bed  rock 
itself  with  a  chisel  or  a  pick  axe.  I've  tried  both 
ways.  I  don't  know  all  there  is  to  know  yet  by  a 
long  shot  but  I  know  a  whole  heap  more  than  I  did, 
which  is  something  to  be  thankful  for."  And  the 

229 


230  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

speaker  thumped  the  pillow  with  her  doubled  fist 
rather  as  she  had  thumped  Sylvia's  hammock  cush- 
ions the  preceding  September. 

Barb,  listening,  sighed  a  little  as  she  wondered  if 
this  knowledge  of  life  were  as  desirable  as  Suzanne 
seemed  to  think.  It  left  one  a  little  tired,  she 
thought,  this  knowing  things. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  ever  guessed,"  Su- 
zanne rattled  on,  "  how  near  I  was  to  the  end  of  my 
rope  last  November.  Phil  knew,  but  he  kept  my 
secret,  like  the  good  dear  he  is.  By  the  way,  what 
is  the  matter  with  Phil?  He  looks  awfully  seedy 
and  sober.  Don't  know  but  you  do,  too,  come  to 
think  of  it.  City  got  on  your  nerves?  " 

Suzanne's  keen  eyes  sought  her  friend's  face  with 
an  intentness  that  made  the  latter  turn  under  pre- 
tense of  switching  off  the  light. 

"  Nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  she  said  cheer- 
fully. "  With  Phil,  of  course,  it  is  Sylvia." 

"  H'm,  I  suppose  so.  He  certainly  looked  as  jolly 
as  a  tombstone  when  we  were  talking  about  her  en- 
gagement a  while  ago.  Well,  why  didn't  he  go  in 
and  get  her  himself?  He  could  have  last  Septem- 
ber easily  enough.  Anybody  could  have  seen  that 
with  half  an  eye.  Gets  me  why  he  didn't  clinch  it 
that  night  at  Lover's  Leap." 


Oh,  Suzanne!  231 

Barb  made  no  reply.  Even  with  Suzanne  she 
could  not  discuss  Phil's  mischance,  especially  as 
Suzanne  would  be  sure  to  say  it  served  him 
right.  Barb  was  very  pitiful  for  Phil.  She  did 
not  want  to  hear  anybody  say  sharp  things  about 
him. 

"  Go  on  about  yourself,"  she  suggested,  getting 
into  bed.  "  Do  you  mean  you  were  really  hard  up, 
last  November?" 

"  Hard  up !  "  chuckled  Suzanne.  "  My  dear,  I 
was  not  merely  badly  bent.  I  was  broke.  That 
night  I  was  up  here  to  supper  I  was  as  hungry  as 
a  wolf.  I  hadn't  been  eating  much  of  anything  for 
days." 

"  Oh,  Suzanne !     And  you  never  told  me !  " 

"  Naturally  not.  I  had  made  my  own  bed  and 
I  intended  to  lie  on  it  even  if  it  was  a  bit  rocky.  Of 
course  they  would  have  sent  me  money  from  home, 
or  Sylvia  or  any  of  you  would  have  lent  me  some. 
But  I  wouldn't  ask  anybody.  I  set  myself  to  work 
out  my  own  salvation  and  I  meant  to  finish  up  the 
job." 

"  You  are  a  wonder,  Suzanne !  But  wasn't  the 
show  work  dreadful?  " 

"  Not  so  dreadful  as  you  might  think.  You  have 
to  work  like  everything,  and  there  is  a  good  deal 


232  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

naturally  that  you  have  to  shut  your  eyes  and  ears 
to,  but  it  was  Life  with  a  capital  letter,  which  was 
what  I  was  looking  for.  Heaven  knows  I  got  it! 
Sometimes  more  than  I  bargained  for."  There  was 
a  catch  in  Suzanne's  voice  which  made  Barb  come 
a  little  nearer  and  put  out  her  hand  until  it  touched 
her  friend's." 

"  Barbie !  "  Suzanne's  voice  was  lowered. 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  ever  think  goodness  was  a  sort  of  rela- 
tive thing?  That  some  girls  are  good  just  nega- 
tively because  they  never  have  any  temptation  or 
opportunity  to  be  anything  else  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Barbara  again. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  really  like  inside 
until  you  suddenly  come  up  against  the  sharp  edges 
of  things.  Do  you  remember  when  Sylvia  said  she 
wanted  to  get  acquainted  with  herself  and  I  said  I 
knew  all  about  myself.  Well,  I  didn't,  that's  all.  I 
found  out." 

"  Suzanne !  "  Barb's  voice  had  a  motherly  croon 
to  it. 

"  Don't  be  scared.  I'm  all  right.  I  did  get 
scorched  a  little,  and  I  know  fire  now  when  I  see  it. 
Who  do  you  suppose  came  to  my  rescue  when  I  was 
singing?"  And  Suzanne  mentioned  the  name  of  a 


Oh,  Suzanne!  233 

"Star"  all  America  knows  and  loves  —  a  Star  of 
the  first  magnitude. 

"  There  was  a  big  snow  storm  and  we  were  blocked 
for  a  day  this  side  of  Kansas  City.  Her  company 
happened  to  be  on  the  same  train  ours  was.  I  dug 
her  Chow  out  of  a  snow  bank  for  her  and  we  got 
acquainted.  I  guess  she  saw  where  I  was  drifting. 
Anyway,  she  pulled  me  back  just  in  season.  Never 
mind  who  the  man  was.  He  doesn't  count  any  more. 
He  never  counted  very  much.  I  was  just  dizzy  with 
life.  It  all  frothed  and  bubbled  and  sparkled  like 
champagne,  and  I  was  a  little  drunk  with  it  all 
maybe.  She  made  me  see  things.  She'd  been  there. 
She  knew." 

Barb  nestled  closer,  but  did  not  speak.  Did  she 
not  understand?  Had  life  not  frothed  and  bubbled 
and  sparkled  for  her,  too?  Did  she  not  know  how 
nearly  anything  could  happen  when  you  felt  like 
that?  Especially  if  the  man  cared  or  pretended  to 
care.  It  had  been  at  once  her  own  safety  and  tor- 
ture that  in  her  case  the  man  had  not  cared. 

"  I  saw  her  again  at  Denver,"  continued  Suzanne, 
"and  she  told  me  the  kind  of  a  play  she  wanted. 
And  Barb,  just  like  a  flash  of  lightning  it  came  so 
quick,  I  knew  I  was  going  to  try  to  write  a  play  for 
her  and  I  did.  And  she's  seen  it  and  she  likes  it  and 


234  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

she  wants  me  to  take  it  to He's  her  manager 

—  just  as  soon  as  I  can  and  tell  him  she  liked  it. 
And  I'm  going  to,  to-morrow.  Oh,  Barbie !  If  he 
should  like  it.  But  he  won't.  I  mustn't  think 
he's  going  to.  I'd  die  if  I  were  sure,  I'd  be  so 
happy." 

And  to-morrow  Suzanne  had  taken  the  play  to  the 
great  manager  and  had  sent  in  the  Star's  card  bear- 
ing the  magic  caption,  "  Introducing  Miss  Mor- 
rison." The  caption  had  worked  like  a  charm, 
swung  open  doors  and  fore-shortened  delays.  It 
was  an  incredibly  brief  space  of  time  before  Su- 
zanne found  herself  in  the  most  inner  of  all  the 
offices  with  a  pair  of  shrewd  kindly  eyes  fixed  in- 
quiringly upon  her. 

The  manager  had  glanced  over  her  manuscript 
with  a  swift  apprising  gaze,  then  glanced  over  Su- 
zanne in  something  of  the  same  manner. 

"  I'll  read  this,  this  afternoon,"  he  promised.  "  I 
have  the  greatest  confidence  in  the  judgment  of  that 
lady,"  with  a  nod  at  the  card  which  lay  among  the 
litter  on  his  desk.  "If  she  says  this  is  good,  I  have 
no  doubt  it  is.  At  any  rate,  we  will  hope  for  the 
best.  Lord  knows  we  are  looking  for  something 
good.  I'll  telephone  you  to-morrow  if  you  will 
leave  me  your  number  and  address.  By  the  way  — " 


Oh,  Suzanne!  235 

he  frowned  a  little.  "  Haven't  I  seen  you  before 
somewhere,  Miss  Morrison?" 

Suzanne  twinkled. 

"  I've  brought  you  three  plays  —  all  impossible," 
she  said. 

"  Indeed !  Let  us  hope  this  one  — "  he  glanced 
at  the  manuscript  —  "will  be  at  least  —  probable." 

"  It  is  more  than  that,"  said  Suzanne.  "  It  is  a 
dead  sure  thing.  Read  it.  You  will  see."  And 
with  that  parting  shot  Suzanne  withdrew,  leaving 
the  manager  grinning  at  her  effrontery. 

But  the  next  day  when  the  great  manager  sought 
to  communicate  with  Suzanne  over  the  telephone, 
Suzanne,  white  and  silent,  was  packing  to  take  the 
next  train  for  Norton,  Pa. 

A  telegram  had  been  sent  to  Salt  Lake  City  in  her 
aunt's  care  and  followed  her  back  to  New  York. 
The  telegram  had  said :  "  Mother  very  sick.  Come 
home  at  once." 

"  It  is  Mr.  "  said  Miss  Murray  from  the 

telephone.  "  Will  you  speak  to  him,  Suzanne  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Suzanne  curtly.  "  Tell  him  I'm  out 
of  town.  Tell  him  anything.  I  don't  care." 

Thus  did  the  Nemesis  of  Suzanne's  joyous  tilting 
with  the  universe  overtake  her.  At  the  moment 
when  victory  seemed  well  within  her  hands  life  had 


236  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

struck  back.  Like  the  star  of  the  seer's  vision,  the 
star  of  her  ambition  fell  burning  into  the  waters. 

"  And  the  name  of  the  star  is  called  wormwood; 
and  the  third  part  of  the  waters  became  wormwood 
and  many  died  of  the  waters  because  they  were  made 
bitter." 

At  the  station  in  Norton,  Roger  Minot  waited 
with  his  car  to  meet  Suzanne  —  a  crushed  anguished 
Suzanne,  her  pertness  and  her  prettiness  equally  in 
eclipse.  She  could  only  put  out  her  hand  to  him 
with  a  little  moan  and  gasp  "  Mother?  " 

"  She  is  holding  her  own.  There  is  hope  —  at 
least  a  little,"  he  told  her.  "  When  did  you  start  ?  " 

"From  New  York?" 

"From  Salt  Lake  City?" 

"  I  haven't  been  in  Salt  Lake  City  for  days.  I 
got  to  New  York  yesterday.  I  didn't  know.  I 
didn't  know.  Oh,  Roger,  it's  dreadful!  I've  been 
so  selfish  —  so  everything  that  is  horrid." 

Roger  Minot  looked  straight  ahead  of  him  and 
said  nothing.  Perhaps  he  knew  it  was  for  the  good 
of  Suzanne's  soul  to  taste  the  whole  acrid  cup  of  her 
remorse. 

But  as  they  neared  the  parsonage  his  heart  was 
smitten  with  pity.  Suzanne  looked  so  wan  and 
grief-stricken  and  subdued,  so  utterly  unlike  the  Su- 


Oh,  Suzanne!  237 

zanne  he  knew,  all  sparkles  and  ripples  and  laugh- 
ter, like  a  little  shallow  stream  running  along 
through  sunshine.  The  hand  which  was  not  busy 
at  the  wheel  closed  over  Suzanne's. 

"  Don't  give  up,  little  girl.  Maybe  it  will  come 
out  right,  after  all.  Anyway,  remember  I'm  right 
here  if  you  need  me." 

Suzanne  uttered  a  sound  which  was  a  little  bit  like 
a  sob.  When,  indeed,  had  Roger  not  been  right 
there  when  she  needed  him  ?  though  she  had  treated 
him  as  the  very  dust  beneath  her  feet.  Dear  Roger ! 
And  with  an  impulse  of  penitent  tenderness  she  gave 
back  the  pressure  of  his  hand. 

And  then  in  a  moment  they  were  at  home,  where 
the  chairs  still  stood  stiff  and  angular  against  the 
wall,  though  up  there  in  a  quiet  room  above  the  hand 
that  had  put  them  in  their  places  lay  very  still  and 
white.  Suzanne's  mother  was  very  sick  indeed.  It 
was  she,  after  all,  and  not  her  willful  little  daughter 
that  had  pulled  the  family  out  of  its  comfortable 
rut  and  cast  a  sad  spell  of  differentness  upon  the 
household.  Suzanne  had  stayed  away  but  sickness 
had  come  in  and  another  darker  guest  waited  outside 
the  door,  his  shadow  already  on  the  threshold.  Poor 
Suzanne !  The  waters  were  made  bitter,  indeed,  at 
the  falling  of  her  star. 


CHAPTER  XX 

SYLVIA    AND    LIFE 

IN  the  meanwhile  Sylvia,  home  at  Arden  Hall 
again,  slipped  back  very  easily  and  naturally  into 
the  old  ways  and  almost  as  easily  and  naturally  into 
the  new  one  of  being  engaged. 

"  It  is  really  quite  a  comfortable  state,"  she  told 
Felicia.  "  You  don't  have  to  wonder  about  every 
new  man  you  meet  when  you  are  all  satisfactorily 
accounted  for  and  checked  off  yourself.  You  can 
even  enjoy  flirting  more,"  she  added  wickedly  with 
a  Sylvia  twinkle,  "  since  everybody  knows  you  don't 
mean  anything  by  it.  Anyway,  I'm  so  used  to  hav- 
ing Jack  around  that  it  isn't  much  different  being  en- 
gaged to  him  from  not  being  engaged  to  him.  I  am 
afraid  I  am  a  hopelessly  unromantic  person,  Felicia. 
I  always  supposed  when  people  got  engaged  it  was 
a  fearsome,  sublimated  sort  of  experience  like  being 
on  top  of  an  Alp  or  something  of  the  sort.  But  I 
don't  feel  any  different  from  what  I  did  before,  ex- 
cept for  the  comfortable  settled  feeling  I  have  al- 

238 


Sylvia  and  Life  239 

ready  mentioned.  And  I'm  not  going  to  get  married 
for  a  long  time.  I  am  going  to  make  the  most  of 
the  privileges  and  immunities  of  my  present  blissful 
state." 

But  as  was  perhaps  natural  Jack  did  not  share  his 
fiancee's  leisurely  attitude.  In  fact  the  two  came 
more  than  once  near  to  quarreling  on  the  subject  of 
the  date  of  their  marriage.  But  Sylvia's  will  was 
stronger  and  Sylvia  would  not  be  married  for  an- 
other year.  That  was  a  flat  and  unequivocable  dic- 
tum and  Jack  had  to  put  up  with  it  as  best  he  could. 
He  dared  not  hurry  his  perverse  lady  love  for  it 
must  be  confessed  he  sometimes  experienced  doubts 
whether  he  had  won  her  at  all,  so  slight  seemed  the 
bond  between  them.  The  very  tranquillizing  effect 
of  the  engagement  upon  Sylvia  was  disturbing  to 
Jack.  That  she  could  take  so  placidly  what  was  the 
biggest  thing  in  the  universe  to  him  was  alarming 
and  a  little  exasperating.  Sometimes  he  would  ac- 
cuse her  of  not  caring  for  him  at  all  and  then  she 
would  still  further  disconcert  him  by  looking  very 
directly  and  questioningly  at  him  as  if  she,  too,  had 
some  doubts  on  the  subject. 

Sylvia  knew  she  had  floated  into  the  engagement 
from  the  crest  of  one  wave  of  emotion  to  another. 
Her  estrangement  from  Phil  Lorrimer,  her  disil- 


240  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

lusionment  about  Jeanette's  married  life,  the  panic- 
stricken  horror  and  shame  with  which  her  own  affair 
with  Porter  Robinson  had  filled  her,  her  generally 
overwrought,  hysterical,  nervous  condition  had  all 
contributed  to  throw  her  into  Jack's  arms  that  night. 
He  had  seemed  an  oasis  on  a  desert,  a  spar  to  the 
drowning.  She  had  awakened  soon  enough  to  the 
realization  that  it  was  by  no  means  a  grand  passion, 
a  life  and  death  affair,  this  placid,  even  affection  she 
felt  for  Jack.  She  loved  him  sufficiently.  She 
knew  she  could  be  fairly  happy  with  him  and  make 
him  happy,  perhaps  could  even  let  her  affection 
deepen  into  something  approaching  a  great  love  in 
due  time.  They  were  ideal  comrades  already,  and 
Sylvia  had  a  theory  that  comradeship  was  a  better 
basis  than  stormy  passion  for  happy  wedlock.  Yet 
perhaps  down  in  her  heart  there  was  a  fear  that 
something  was  lacking  in  it  all,  something  that  kept 
her  stubbornly  insistent  on  postponing  the  wedding 
for  a  year.  Impulsively  she  had  yielded  the  first  re- 
doubt. She  intended  to  be  sure  of  herself  before 
she  surrendered  the  fortress  for  good  and  all.  She 
meant  to  do  it  in  the  end  without  reservation,  for 
better  for  worse.  There  should  be  no  shilly-shally- 
ing like  Jeanette's  in  her  life.  That  she  was  deter- 
mined upon. 


Sylvia  and  Life  241 

Part  of  the  steadying  effect  of  her  engagement 
expressed  itself  in  a  sincere  desire  to  stop  the  unsat- 
isfactory flitting  from  flower  to  flower  process,  sip- 
ping honey  here  and  there,  into  which  she  had  drifted 
during  the  restless  winter  months  past.  She  had 
had  enough  tasting  of  experience  and  honestly 
sought  serious  employment  for  her  energies. 

Luckily  there  was  always  plenty  to  occupy  her  on 
the  Hill.  More  and  more  the  Byrd  sisters  came  to 
depend  on  her,  especially  as  Julietta  was  now  away 
getting  acquainted  with  her  grandson,  Gloria's  boy, 
recently  arrived  upon  this  planet.  The  girls  at 
"  Hester  house,"  and  Hope  and  Martha,  also  came 
in  for  a  generous  share  of  her  attention.  The  old 
buoyant,  radiant  Sylvia  seemed  to  have  come  back  to 
them,  ready  to  cheer  and  comfort  and  command  at 
need.  Never  was  her  genius  for  happiness  more  in 
demand  or  more  in  evidence  than  it  was  that  Febru- 
ary. It  seemed- as  if  everything  had  been  awry  and 
sad  and  bad  while  she  had  been  away  in  the  city 
and  that  now  she  was  home  it  must  all  just  naturally 
straighten  itself  out. 

She  took  up  her  music  again  with  rigorous  hours 
of  practice.  She  fulfilled  her  long  made  threat  of 
learning  to  cook,  much  to  Aunt  Mandy's  pride  and 
delight  in  her  role  as  chief  professor  of  the  culinary 


242  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

arts.  She  went  in,  seriously,  this  time,  into  Red 
Cross  work,  organizing  a  unit  which  she  kept  sternly 
to  its  task  of  rolling  bandages  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
necessary  if 'rather  prosaic  labor.  She  also  got  un- 
der way  a  class  in  first  aid  instruction  under  the  tui- 
tion of  a  young  doctor  whom  Tom  Daly  had  recom- 
mended, too  busy  himself  to  take  on  any  new  du- 
ties. 

Doctor  Torn  and  Sylvia  saw  a  great  deal  of  each 
other  off  and  on  but  always  in  the  comfortable, 
wholesome,  brother  and  sister  relation  which  their 
November  interlude  had  interrupted  but  not  de- 
stroyed. Sylvia  was  often  at  the  cottage  playing 
with  the  babies  whom  she  adored  and  kept  out  of 
Lois'  way  as  often  as  possible  so  that  the  latter  might 
have  time  for  the  typing  of  her  book  which  was 
almost  ready  for  the  publisher's  hands.  Marianna 
and  Donald,  too,  came  in  for  a  large  share  of  Syl- 
via's time.  For  them  she  spun  rare  tales  old  and 
new  and  rendered  Kirn  and  the  Water  Babies,  the 
Immortal  Alice  and  other  beloved  favorites  of  the 
realms  of  gold  until  she  knew  them  nearly  by  heart. 
With  the  children  Sylvia  was  happiest  of  all.  Liv- 
ing in  their  world  she  almost  forgot  her  own,  which 
in  spite  of  her  boasted  contentment  did  not  wholly 
satisfy  her.  She  had  learned  that  the  busier  she  was, 


Sylvia  and  Life  243 

the  better  life  seemed,  leaving  fewer  crannies  and 
nooks  for  doubts  and  wonders  to  seep  in. 

Of  course  there  was  plenty  of  gayety  both  in 
Greendale  and  in  the  near-by  city,  but  she  steadily 
refused  to  go  in  for  an  excess  of  this  kind  of  thing, 
though  here,  too,  she  and  Jack  came  near  to  dissen- 
sion. It  must  be  admitted  Jack  was  scarcely  so  as- 
siduous a  devotee  of  business  now  that  he  felt  his 
assiduity  no  longer  essential  to  the  winning  of  his 
liege  lady.  He  was  ready  now  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of 
his  labor  and  have  a  thoroughly  frivolous  holiday 
with  Sylvia  as  mistress  of  the  revels.  But  just  as 
he  wanted  to  cut  loose  Sylvia  wanted  to  go  sedately. 
He  complained  that  he  saw  infinitely  less  of  her  now 
he  was  engaged  to  her  than  he  had  when  he  was  not, 
and  resented  somewhat  sharply  the  thousand  and 
one  claims  and  duties  which  Sylvia  acknowledged. 
Yet  the  two  never  really  quarreled.  Jack  was  too 
sunny-tempered  and  Sylvia  too  tactful,  and  on  the 
whole  they  were  very  happy  together,  Sylvia,  oddly 
enough,  happier  than  Jack. 

Meanwhile  the  war  went  on  overseas  and  men 
began  to  shake  their  heads  and  prophesy  that  we 
would  be  in  it  soon.  But  that  was  still  nineteen 
hundred  and  fifteen  and  we  kept  out.  About  this 
time  came  a  letter  from  Hilda,  the  first  in  many 


244  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

months.  The  chief  item  told  simply  and  with 
scarcely  any  comment  was  that  Bertram  had  been 
killed  early  in  October.  "  I  can  hardly  realize  it  or 
feel  it,"  wrote  Hilda.  "  It  is  getting  to  be  an  old 
story  over  here.  Women  see  their  lovers  and  their 
sons  and  their  husbands  go  and  they  don't  come 
back,  or  if  they  do,  they  come  maimed  and  crippled, 
only  the  shadow  of  the  men  that  went  forth.  In 
the  meanwhile  we  try  to  heal  as  many  as  we  can, 
though  it  is  discouraging  to  heal  them  and  send 
them  back  to  be  killed  outright  perhaps  next  time." 

The  letter  and  its  sad  news  had  haunted  Sylvia 
for  a  long  time.  What  a  strange  romance  Hilda's 
had  been  —  so  brief  it  must  almost  have  seemed  a 
dream !  She  had  known  Bertram  only  a  few  weeks 
in  August.  By  the  first  of  September  they  had  be- 
come engaged.  A  week  later  he  had  gone  to  the 
front.  In  October  he  had  been  overtaken  by  death. 
And  that  was  the  end.  What  a  waste  there  was 
to  it  all! 

Half  consciously  all  that  month  Sylvia  expected 
to  hear  that  Barb  and  Phil  were  engaged.  She  had 
long  since  made  up  her  mind  that  that  particular 
consummation  was  natural,  even  desirable.  She, 
herself,  was  far  too  sane  a  person  to  spend  many 
moments  prying  among  ashes  to  see  if  any  sparks 


Sylvia  and  Life  245 

remained.  Nor  would  she  permit  herself  to  regret 
that  which  had  perhaps  never  been  more  than  moon- 
shine and  dream  stuff.  She  was  able  to  persuade 
herself  quite  easily  that  since  she  was  able  to  be  so 
placidly  happy  without  Phil  she  had  never  needed 
him  overmuch.  That  miracle  moment  on  Lover's 
Leap  and  that  other  music  intoxicated  moment  in 
December  came  to  seem  to  her  mere  magic  casements 
through  which  she  had  looked  for  the  briefest  inter- 
val of  time  into  another  world,  essentially  unreal, 
fantastic,  a  sort  of  mirage  of  the  soul.  And  mi- 
rages were  not  in  Sylvia's  line,  so  she  did  not  often 
let  herself  remember  those  irrevocable  moments. 

Once  in  her  desultory  reading  she  came  across 
a  little  poem  called  "  Remembrance,"  one  stanza  of 
which  particularly  haunted  her. 

Not  unto  the  forest  —  not  unto  the  forest,  O  my  love! 

Take  me  from  the  silence  of  the  forest! 
I  will  love  you  by  the  light  and  the  beat  of  drvms  at  night 
And  echoing  of  laughter  in  my  ears, 

But  here  in  the  forest 

I  am  still,  remembering  a  forgotten,  useless  thing, 
And  my  eyelids  are  locked  down  for  fear  of  tears  — 

There  is  memory  in  the  forest. 

She  had  gone  to  a  dance  with  Jack  that  night  and 
every  now  and  then  the  music  had  taken  words. 


246  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

I  will  love  you  by  the  light  and  the  beat  of  drums  at  night 
And  echoing  of  laughter  in  my  ears. 

But,  afterward,  in  her  own  room,  she  had  sat  a 
long  time  by  the  window  looking  out  into  the  white 
night  where  snows  lay  on  her  rose  bushes.  And 
perhaps  she  remembered  a  "  forgotten  useless  thing  " 
and  her  eyelids,  too,  were  "  locked  down  for  fear 
of  tears."  And  a  new  fear  awakened  in  Sylvia's 
heart  that  night,  a  fear  of  Love.  She,  too,  needed 
to  be  delivered  from  the  memory  of  the  forest. 


A    CHAPTER   OF    REVELATIONS 

FEBRUARY  passed  and  March  came  in,  rough  and 
blustering,  with  "  noise  of  wind  and  of  many 
waters "  blowing  its  silver  trumpets  to  life  long 
dormant  under  winter  snows.  There  came  a  few 
warm  days  and  the  crocuses  began  to  run  gay  little 
races  through  the  grass  in  Sylvia's  garden  and  the 
jocund  company  of  daffodils  appeared.  One  morn- 
ing a  bluebird  flashed  out  in  the  magnolia  and  the 
cardinals  called  "  Pretty !  Pretty !  Pretty !  "  ecstati- 
cally all  day  long. 

But  then  came  frost  and  the  frivolous  crocuses  in 
their  parti-colored  gowns  lay  flat  and  desolate  like 
little  dead  dreams.  The  daffodils  blackened  and 
their  stalks  snapped,  brittle  as  icicles.  The  bluebird 
disappeared,  nobody  knew  where,  and  the  cardinal's 
joy  was  muted.  And  it  was  all  a  symbol  of  life  as 
it  was  in  the  world  that  spring  of  nineteen  hundred 
and  fifteen.  Men  had  dreamed  of  peace  and  good 
will,  of  strong  nations  hailing  each  other  with  a 

247 


248  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  God  speed  "  across  the  waters,  a  world  of  quick- 
ened life  and  promise  and  progress.  And  suddenly, 
out  of  a  clear  sky,  as  it  seemed,  had  come  blackening, 
devastating  war.  Men  who  had  smiled  like  friendly 
gods  snarled  and  hissed  and  rolled  each  other  in 
the  dust  like  brute  beasts.  Hymns  of  hate  replaced 
the  song  of  the  morning  stars,  and  the  Prince  of 
Peace  was  again  crucified. 

And  still  America  looked  on,  dismayed,  awed, 
shaking  herself  like  a  great  dog,  but  not  yet  ready 
to  leap  at  the  throat  of  the  enemy  of  democracy,  not 
yet  ready  to  believe  such  an  enemy  could  really  live 
and  move  and  have  his  mighty  being  in  this  day  and 
generation  of  enlightenment.  Not  yet  was  Beowulf 
dedicated  to  Heorot's  cause,  not  yet  did  he  fully  real- 
ize the  hate  fulness  of  Grendel,  who  bore  God's 
wrath.  Aloof  from  it  all,  America's  great  pulse 
beat  on  almost  steadily.  Men  and  women  loved  and 
sinned  and  suffered  and  bartered  and  sacrificed  as 
they  had  been  doing  from  the  beginning,  more  or 
less  unmindful  of  the  whirlwind  sowing  not  so  far 
off,  with  only  an  ocean  between  it  and  themselves. 
And  what  is  an  ocean  nowadays? 

In  the  stuffy  little  town  of  Norton,  Pa.,  Suzanne 
took  a  deep  draught  of  life  that  March;  a  deeper 
draught,  indeed,  than  New  York,  or  for  that  matter 


A  Chapter  of  Revelations          249 

all  the  cities  of  America  could  have  held  to  her  lips. 
Day  by  day,  as  she  sat  by  her  mother's  bed,  she 
learned  lessons  no  college  could  have  taught  her. 
Suzanne's  spirit  had  been  "  stabb'd  broad  awake/' 
She  saw  the  Suzanne  of  the  past,  blind,  arrogant, 
selfish,  deeming  herself  wise  and  self-sufficient,  yet 
really  knowing  neither  life  nor  herself.  Here  in 
the  quiet  room  where  the  angels  of  life  and  death 
wrestled  she  saw  things  very  clearly  and  was  made 
humble. 

But  it  was  willed  that  she  be  spared  the  last  drops 
of  the  cup  of  sorrow  and  remorse.  In  those  early 
March  days  her  mother  drifted  back  slowly  from 
the  Hinterland.  It  was  almost  as  if  Suzanne's  need 
and  Suzanne's  prayer  and  Suzanne's  love  had 
brought  her  back.  Little  by  little,  as  the  mother 
grew  better,  she  and  her  daughter  came  into  the 
grace  of  mutual  understanding  and  sympathy  and 
forgiveness,  knowing  at  last  the  whole  story  of  Su- 
zanne's light-hearted  vagabondage  Mrs.  Morrison 
was  able  to  smile  and  sigh  over  "  Melissa  on  the 
Road,"  the  first  installment  of  which  appeared  in  the 
April  issue  of  the  magazine  whose  editor  had  "  come 
to  life  "  in  season  to  recognize  a  live  human  docu- 
ment when  it  came  into  his  hands. 

As   for  the  play,   Suzanne  received  a  letter  in 


250  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

March  from  the  great  manager  informing  her  he 
had  kept  in  touch  with  her  affairs  through  Miss 
Murray,  congratulating  her  on  her  mother's  recov- 
ery and  begging  for  an  interview  at  her  earliest 
convenience.  His  confidence  in  the  Star's  judg- 
ment had,  it  seemed,  been  justified.  The  play 
was  as  good  as  Suzanne  had  promised,  so  he  ad- 
mitted. 

Accordingly,  one  day,  when  her  mother  was  able 
to  spare  her,  Suzanne  went  up  to  New  York  to  sign 
contracts  and  discuss  royalties  with  a  glibness  which 
scarcely  betrayed  her  recent  complete  inexperience 
of  such  pleasing  commodities.  The  play  was  to 
be  tried  out  in  early  September  and  if  it  was  suc- 
cessful would  be  given  a  chance  on  Broadway 
later. 

"  Of  course,  that  is  on  the  knees  of  the  gods,"  the 
manager  had  warned.  "  You  can't  tell  what  the 
public  will  do.  The  public  is  a  spoiled  child.  The 
thing  may  go.  It  may  not.  The  whole  thing's  a 
devilish  lottery,  you  understand." 

Oh,  yes,  Suzanne  understood.  All  life  was  pretty 
much  of  a  devilish  lottery  she  thought,  but  that  made 
it  more  rather  than  less  interesting.  Long  ago  she 
had  taken  for  her  motto,  "  Believe  and  venture,  as 
for  pledges  the  gods  give  none."  It  was  enough 


A  Chapter  of  Revelations          251 

for  her  at  the  time  that  the  play  was  to  be  given  a 
trial.  More  would  have  slain  her  with  joy  she 
thought. 

Of  course  she  ran  straight  to  Barb  with  this 
bucketful  of  delightful  certainties  and  enchanting 
possibilities.  And  Barb  was  as  happy  as  Suzanne 
over  it  all.  She  was  an  artist  at  rejoicing  with  those 
that  rejoice  as  well  as  mourning  with  those  that 
mourned.  Sometimes  she  seemed  to  herself  to  be 
nothing  at  all  but  an  agglomeration  of  sympathies 
for  the  rest  of  the  world.  Her  own  selfhood 
seemed  drowned  in  the  sea  of  humanity.  She  was 
not  unhappy.  Indeed  she  was  quietly,  humbly  con- 
tent. To  some  women  to  love  itself  is  the  main 
thing.  In  such  the  waters  of  affection  returning 
back  to  their  springs,  fill  them  indeed  full  of  re- 
freshment. There  was  no  bitterness  in  Barb. 
Gladly  and  freely  she  had  broken  her  alabaster  box 
of  precious  ointment  not  counting  the  cost,  nor  deem- 
ing the  performance  any  sort  of  waste,  rather  a 
privilege. 

As  for  the  Cause,  her  dedication  to  it  held  no  more 
scruples.  Suzanne  had  been  right  in  her  prophecy. 
She  was  "  white  hot "  in  her  faith,  in  her  mission, 
the  whiter-hot,  perhaps,  because  she  had  managed  to 
get  "  martyrized  "  along  the  way. 


252  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

In  March  Lois  Daly's  book  was  accepted  by  the 
publishers,  with  hearty  congratulations  on  her  re- 
turn to  the  field  of  literature  after  her  sojourn  else- 
where. The  terms  of  her  contract  were  generous 
and  Lois  smiled,  well  pleased.  She  took  the  letter 
at  once  to  her  husband,  and  when  he  had  expressed 
his  delight  and  pride  in  her  success  she  had  explained 
why  she  had  done  the  thing. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  write  a  bit,  Tom,"  she  said.  "  I 
dreaded  to  go  into  it  again.  Of  course  when  I  once 
got  in  it  I  loved  it  just  as  I  always  have.  It  is  ex- 
hilarating—  soul-possessing.  But  I  was  happy 
without  it,  perfectly  happy.  I  don't  know  whether 
you  understand  that,  Tom.  I  was  afraid  sometimes 
it  worried  you  that  I  had  given  it  up.  It  needn't 
have.  You  and  the  home  and  the  children  were 
enough  to  fill  every  need." 

"  Then  why  did  you  do  it  ?  "  He  surveyed  her, 
puzzled.  It  occurred  to  him  as  no  doubt  it  occurs  to 
many  wise  men  at  times  how  little  he  knew  his  wife. 
Do  men  ever  really  know  their  wives?  Tom  Daly 
thought  of  that  little  episode  with  Sylvia  and  won- 
dered if  it  had  had  anything  to  do  with  sending  Lois 
back  to  her  writing. 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  wanted  to  make  some  money 
—  quite  a  lot  of  money  —  and  that  was  the  only 


A  Chapter  of  Revelations          253 

way  I  knew  of  doing  it  —  my  only  wage  earning 
asset,"  she  smiled. 

But  Tom  still  looked  bewildered.  Just  why 
should  Lois  have  suddenly  acquired  her  zeal  for 
money  ?  She  had  never  been  luxurious  in  her  tastes, 
turning  always  preferably  to  simplicity  of  living,  as 
those  of  the  aristocracy  of  brains  usually  do.  There- 
fore he  awaited  enlightenment.  It  was  twilight  and 
they  were  sitting  together  in  the  dusk,  but  he  could 
see  her  eyes  shining  with  a  sort  of  wistful  tender- 
ness as  they  lifted  themselves  to  his. 

"  You  don't  ask  why  I  wanted  the  money  ?  Is  it 
because  you  know  that  I  wanted  it  to  give  to  you  ?  " 
She  pushed  the  publisher's  letter  across  the  table  to 
him.  "  It  is  yours,  dear, —  my  gift  to  the  hospital. 
I  haven't  been  able  to  show  I  cared  for  what  you 
were  working  for.  Perhaps  I  haven't  really  cared, 
though  I  think  I  have  learned  a  little  about  it  this 
winter,  while  I've  been  working  myself.  I've  had 
a  little  light  —  a  crack  of  it,  anyway."  She  smiled 
at  him  in  the  grayness.  "  But  I've  always  cared  for 
you,  Tom,  even  when  maybe  I  haven't  shown  it,  and 
I  want  to  give  this  —  piece  of  me  to  your  hospital 
because  I  do  love  you  and  your  big  vision.  Will  you 
take  it?  It  isn't  much,  but  it  comes  straight  from 
my  heart." 


254  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"Not  much!"  cried  Tom  Daly.  ''Lois,  it  is 
everything." 

And  in  a  moment  his  arms  were  around  her  and 
there  was  nothing  else  in  all  the  world  but  they  two, 
mystically  one  in  the  fullness  of  their  love  each  for 
the  other. 

So  Spring  brought  with  it  quickened  life  and  love 
to  Tom  Daly  and  Lois  as  it  had  done  to  Suzanne 
Morrison  and  her  mother. 

Spring,  too,  brought  back  Gus  Nichols  from  his 
concert  tour,  a  little  thinner  and  tired  looking  as 
if  the  fire  of  his  music  had  burned  rather  deep  but 
with  a  new  poise  and  dignity  and  manhood,  along 
with  his  old  boyish  charm. 

Mr.  Mclntosh  was  as  happy  as  a  child  with  a  new 
toy  at  having  the  boy  back,  or  rather  as  a  child  with 
an  old  toy,  beloved  and  rediscovered.  It  was  pleas- 
ant to  see  the  two  together,  old  man  and  lad,  so 
different  racially  and  temperamentally,  yet  so  bound 
together  by  the  ties  of  affection. 

"  Best  job  you  ever  did  in  your  life,  Sylvia  Ar- 
den," Mr.  Mclntosh  had  observed  one  Sunday 
when  he  and  Gus  were  taking  dinner  at  the  Hall. 
"  Best  job  you  ever  did,  when  you  persuaded  me 
to  adopt  the  boy.  I  can  see  you  now,  impertinent 
little  witch  that  you  were,  sitting  up  and  giving  me 


A  Chapter  of  Revelations          255 

advice  like  a  grandmother.  But  it  was  good  advice. 
I  grant  you  that.  You  knew  what  you  were  talking 
about  and  talked  to  some  purpose.  See  here,  Sylvia 
The  old  man  lowered  his  voice  a  little,  though 
the  others  —  Gus  and  Felicia  and  Doctor  Daly  — 
were  engaged  in  conversation  and  could  not  hear, 
"  do  you  think  there  is  anything  the  matter  with  the 
lad?  He  doesn't  look  just  happy  to  me.  You 
don't  think  there  can  be  a  girl  or  any  nonsense  like 
that?" 

Romance  had  always  seemed  more  or  less  non- 
sense to  Angus  Mclntosh,  probably  would  unto  the 
end,  though  years  and  affection  had  somewhat  tem- 
pered his  aversion  for  sentiment. 

Sylvia  looked  up  a  little  startled,  remembering 
suddenly  what  she  had  almost  forgotten  —  that 
unspoken  thing  she  had  read  in  the  boy's  eyes  that 
night  after  his  first  concert.  Gus,  too,  looked  up  at 
the  moment,  and  as  their  gaze  met  Sylvia  saw  that 
the  boy's  had  the  fire  and  dew  of  a  Galahad  in 
them,  the  look  of  one  who  sees  the  Grail  afar  off. 
Her  own  eyes  fell.  She  could  not  bear  that  shin- 
ing, reverent  look.  It  blinded  her,  shook  her, 
quickened  her,  filled  her  with  humility  and  com- 
passion and  envy.  She  perceived  that  Gus  had 
found  this  thing  which  she  herself  seemed  forever 


256  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

seeking  with  vain  quest.  In  giving  he  had  gained, 
in  losing  he  had  found. 

"  Well  ? "  challenged  Angus  Mclntosh  at  her 
side. 

Sylvia  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  Gus  looks  to  me  —  very  happy,"  she  said. 

"  I'm  glad  you  think  so."  The  old  man's  tone 
was  relieved,  as  if  a  burden  had  been  lifted  from 
his  mind.  He  had  the  greatest  respect  for  Sylvia's 
judgment  and  understanding.  "  Glad  you  think  so. 
He  seems  all  right,  but  I  wasn't  sure.  Thought  I'd 
see  what  you  thought,  that's  all." 

Later  Sylvia  played  accompaniments  for  her 
guest's  violin.  And  if  his  eyes  had  not  already  con- 
veyed the  truth  to  her,  his  violin  would  have  done 
so.  Sylvia  could  hardly  keep  the  tears  out  of  her 
eyes  as  she  played.  Not  that  the  music  was  sad.  It 
was  jubilant,  at  times  almost  triumphant.  It 
throbbed  and  welled  and  exulted.  It  disdained  pity 
as  a  crowned  monarch  might  have  disclaimed  it.  It 
proclaimed  itself  inviolate,  consecrate,  perfected. 
"  I  rejoice !  I  conquer !  I  love !  "  it  sang. 

As  Sylvia  rose  from  the  piano  she  almost  feared 
to  meet  the  gaze  of  the  listeners.  She  thought  they 
must  all  have  heard  the  message  of  the  violin  as  she 
had  heard  it.  But  no  one  seemed  to  have  done  so. 


A  Chapter  of  Revelations          257 

They  had  felt  the  power  and  the  beauty  of  the  thing, 
but  its  soul  had  been  concealed  from  them  all  except 
Sylvia  herself. 

And  then  Sylvia  saw  that  Jack  was  in  the  room. 
He  had  come  in  while  they  had  been  playing  and 
stood  silent,  waiting  until  the  violin  ceased.  She 
went  to  him,  her  eyes  still  full  of  the  music,  and 
noticed  that  he  was  a  little  white  and  very  grave, 
with  something  of  his  boyishness  stricken  out  of 
him. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  back  from  New  York," 
she  said,  though  that  wasn't  at  all  what  she  seemed 
to  care  about  saying.  The  ordinary,  conventional 
words  rise  to  our  lips  when  the  real  things  hide  un- 
said. 

"  Let's  get  out  of  here  a  moment,"  he  whispered, 
under  cover  of  greeting,  "  I've  something  to  tell 
you." 

Sylvia  stepped  out  into  the  hall  and  he  followed. 

"  Sylvia,  there's  been  an  accident.  Phil's  hurt  — 
dying,  maybe." 

He  put  out  his  arm  quickly,  for  Sylvia  swayed  to- 
ward him  with  eyes  that  told  him  what  perhaps  he 
had  known  in  his  heart  all  the  time. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

UNTO    THE    FOREST 

SYLVIA  did  not  faint.  Indeed  it  seemed  to  her  as 
if  she  had  never  in  all  her  life  been  so  quick  in  every 
fiber  as  she  was  at  the  moment  she  heard  Jack's  voice 
saying  those  fearful  illuminating  words,  "  Phil  — 
dying,  they  think."  It  was  as  if  a  great  clean  wave 
swept  over  her  leaving  her  purged  of  misunderstand- 
ing and  doubt  and  weakness  and  compromise.  With 
one  blinding  flash  of  light  she  saw  clear.  She  drew 
away  from  Jack's  arms. 

"  Tell  me  about  it.  No,  I  am  all  right.  Tell  me." 
There  was  little  to  tell.  A  crowded  street,  a  heed- 
less chauffeur,  a  toddling  Italian  baby  escaped  from 
its  mother's  fruit  stand.  These  were  the  details. 
There  was  nothing  unusual  about  them.  Such  acci- 
dents happen  daily  in  great  cities.  One  scarcely 
hears  of  them  they  are  so  frequent  of  occurrence. 
The  wonder  is  there  are  not  more  of  them  when 
human  life  teems  so  thick  and  is  held  so  cheap.  But, 
unfortunately,  clear-witted,  quick-moving,  strong- 

258 


Unto  the  Forest  259 

limbed  young  ex- football  heroes  are  not  always  at 
hand  as  in  this  case.  The  baby  was  happily  un- 
hurt, but  Phil  Lorrimer  lay  in  the  hospital  at  the 
point  of  death. 

Instead  of  keeping  a  luncheon  engagement  with 
his  friend,  Jack  Amidon  had  been  called  upon  to 
take  charge  of  a  grave  situation.  Finally,  there  be- 
ing nothing  left  to  do,  he  had  come  back  to  Green- 
dale  to  tell  Mrs.  Lorrimer  —  Mrs.  Lorrimer  and 
Sylvia. 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  better  to  tell  his  mother 
myself,"  he  said  to  Sylvia.  "  Telegrams  knock  you 
out  so.  She  is  a  wonder,  though.  Not  a  whimper. 
She's  going  up  on  the  five  o'clock  from  Baltimore. 
I'm  taking  her  in,  in  the  car." 

"  I  am  going,  too,"  said  Sylvia. 

For  a  moment  the  two  stared  at  each  other,  then 
Jack  understood  and  acquiesced. 

"  All  right.  That  is  for  you  to  say,"  he  responded 
quietly.  "  Go  and  get  ready.  I'll  tell  the  rest." 

Even  in  her  distress,  Sylvia  smiled  wanly  at  Jack. 
It  was  so  like  him  to  understand,  to  spare  her,  to  see 
at  a  flash  the  helpful,  kindly  thing  to  do.  Jack  was 
always  so  "  dear."  She  tried  to  express  her  grati- 
tude but  he  cut  her  short  by  stooping  to  kiss  her,  not 
on  the  lips  as  usual,  but  on  the  forehead. 


260  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Don't  bother  about  me,  sweetheart.  I  don't 
count,"  and  he  strode  away  from  her  toward  the 
living-room  where  he  had  promised  to  "  tell  the 
rest." 

Sylvia  ran  up  the  stairs  to  her  own  room,  dazed 
and  dry-eyed,  with  a  strange  lightness  about  her,  as 
if  she  had  suddenly  shed  her  body  and  become  all 
spirit.  In  a  few  moments  Felicia  joined  her,  quiet, 
helpful,  unquestioning.  There  was  never  any  need 
of  explaining  things  to  Felicia.  She  did  not  ask 
why  Sylvia,  engaged  to  one  man,  should  be  rushing 
with  anguish-stricken  eyes  to  the  sick-bed  of  an- 
other. Perhaps  she  understood  that  better  than 
she  had  understood  the  engagement  in  the  first 
place. 

It  was  a  strange  journey  —  first,  the  swift  almost 
silent  automobile  ride  to  the  city ;  Jack's  stern,  white 
face  as  he  kissed  her  good-by  so  unlike  the  sunny 
lover  she  was  used  to,  whom  she  had  loved  "  by  the 
light  and  beat  of  drums,"  a  look  so  different  it  had 
haunted  her  all  the  way  to  New  York;  beside  her 
the  quiet  countenance  and  grief-filled  eyes  of  Phil's 
mother.  Feeling  scarcely  worthy  to  dwell  in  the 
sanctuary  of  her  own  grief,  Sylvia's  heart  went  out 
to  the  older  woman  in  her  silent  agony.  Perhaps 
never  in  her  life  before  had  the  girl  realized  what  it 


Unto  the  Forest  261 

meant  to  be  a  mother  —  how  mothers  gave  and  gave 
and  gave,  and  suffered  and  suffered  and  suffered, 
and  loved  and  loved  and  loved,  unto  the  end.  What 
was  going  on  in  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  other 
woman  she  could  only  conjecture.  Dimly  she  per- 
ceived that  the  mother  loved  the  son  for  the  baby 
he  had  been,  the  boy  and  youth  he  had  been,  the  man 
he  was,  the  man  he  was  to  be  —  all  in  one.  How 
could  she  bear  it?  Sylvia  wondered. 

Then  the  vision  widened.  How  could  all  those 
women  over  in  Europe  bear  it?  To  give  up  their 
sons  —  the  very  fruit  of  their  bodies,  those  for 
whom  they  had  undergone  the  agonies  of  death !  It 
was  horrible.  Phil  was  only  one,  and  he  had  of- 
fered life  for  life.  That  was  natural.  But  those 
other  strong  young  men,  over  there  —  they  were 
giving  life  for  more  death.  That  was  the  unthink- 
able, hideous  part  of  it.  The  sorrows  of  all  the 
world  seemed  pressing  down  upon  her,  crystallized, 
made  real  by  her  own  poignant,  personal  grief.  Phil 
became  the  mangled  young  life  of  the  world. 

Suddenly  Sylvia  felt  she  could  bear  it  no  longer 
alone.  She  put  out  her  hand  and  let  it  rest  upon 
the  hand  of  Phil's  mother.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  turned 
with  a  faint  little  smile. 

"  Pray,  Sylvia,  pray,"  she  said  softly.     "  Try  to 


262  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

help  me  say  '  Thy  will  be  done.'  I  am  trying  to  say 
it.  But  it  is  hard  —  so  very  hard." 

"  I  can't,"  Sylvia's  young  voice  flung  back,  hard, 
almost  fierce,  in  its  hurt.  "  I  can  only  keep  saying, 
'  Don't  take  him.  Don't  take  him.  I  can't  bear 
it'  " 

But  Mrs.  Lorrimer  shook  her  head  and  pressed 
the  girl's  hand. 

"  We  can  bear  anything,  Sylvia  —  anything.  We 
are  never  asked  to  bear  too  much." 

"  I  am,"  cried  Sylvia  passionately.  "  I  can't  bear 
his  dying  —  without  knowing.  He  must  know." 

"  He  will  know,  dear." 

Sylvia  took  comfort  from  the  quiet  assurance. 
She  believed  Mrs.  Lorrimer  meant  she  felt  sure  that 
Phil  was  still  living,  would  live.  She  did  not  know 
the  mother  meant  that  her  son  might  already  be 
where  there  could  be  no  misunderstanding,  no  longer 
any  seeing  as  through  a  glass  darkly,  but  face  to  face 
with  infinite  realities.  Alice  Lorrimer  was  not 
young  like  Sylvia.  She  knew  from  sad  experience 
how  many  paths  of  human  life  lead  straight  to  the 
Garden  of  Gethsemane. 

Presently  Sylvia  spoke  again. 

"  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  how  do  you  suppose  I  could 
have  been  so  blind  —  not  to  know  —  I  cared  —  this 


Unto  the  Forest  263 

way?  "  Sylvia's  phrases  came  out  in  quick,  uneven 
gasps,  as  if  every  word  hurt  "  I  didn't  know  —  I 
never  knew  until  Jack  told  me  just  now  —  about 
Phil.  I  didn't  know,"  she  moaned. 

"  Maybe  Phil  was  blind  too,  dear.  I  think  he  was. 
He  put  an  unreal  thing  ahead  of  a  real  one,  I  am 
afraid,  just  because  he  cared  so  much.  You  needn't 
look  surprised,  child.  Mothers  know  so  much  more 
than  any  one  ever  tells  them.  Of  course  I  don't 
know  what  happened  in  New  York,  but  I  have  al- 
ways suspected  my  boy  hurt  you,  and  it  was  the  hurt 
which  made  you  shut  your  eyes  so  tight." 

"  It  was  something  like  that,"  admitted  Sylvia. 
"  It  is  so  horribly  easy  to  get  all  muddled  and  twisted 
up  in  life." 

"  It  is,"  agreed  Mrs.  Lorrimer.  "  Sometimes  it 
takes  a  great  grief  to  remove  the  bandages  from  our 
eyes." 

"  I  know.  When  Jack  told  me  —  first  everything 
went  black  and  then  it  was  all  white  and  shining.  I 
felt  as  if  I  had  never  really  seen  clear  in  all  my  life 
before,  except  maybe  just  once,  last  September  out 
in  the  woods  at  sunset.  I  think  Phil  and  I  both 
knew  then.  Oh,  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  why  didn't  he 
speak?  What  difference  could  my  money  possibly 
make  ?  Money  and  love  haven't  anything  to  do  with 


264  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

each  other.  They  are  in  different  kingdoms  like 
animal,  vegetable,  mineral,  only  there  must  be  a 
fourth  kingdom  —  the  love  kingdom."  Sylvia's 
eyes  smiled  a  little,  like  stars  through  mist. 

"  Men  do  not  always  understand,  little  daughter. 
Perhaps  they  never  understand  quite.  You  must 
not  blame  Philip  too  much." 

"  Blame !  Oh,  I  don't.  The  blame  was  mine.  I 
shouldn't  have  rushed  like  a  mad  thing  into  the  fire 
to  save  my  pride.  I  wasn't  true  to  love  or  Phil  or 
myself  or  Jack.  Maybe  I  was  untruest  of  all  to 
Jack.  He  will  never  tell  me,  but  I  know  I  have 
hurt  him  dreadfully.  Sometimes  I  think  women 
are  the  cruellest  things  in  the  world.  We  don't 
mean  to  be  but  we  are." 

"  I  am  afraid  we  are  sometimes." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  cruel.  I've  always  wanted 
to  be  kind.  Maybe  that  is  the  trouble.  I've  been 
too  kind.  I  let  myself  believe  I  loved  Jack  because 
it  pleased  me  to  make  him  happy.  And  I  haven't 
made  him  happy.  That  is  the  worst  of  it.  I  believe 
he  has  been  miserable  all  along  because  he  knew  I 
was  giving  him  counterfeit  gold  instead  of  the  real 
thing.  It  was  only  I  who  did  not  know,  and  even  I 
suspected,  sometimes.  That  was  why  I  wanted  to 
keep  so  dreadfully  busy  all  the  time,  so  I  wouldn't 


Unto  the  Forest  265 

have  time  to  think.  Mother  Lorrimer,"  in  sudden 
contrition,  "  you  are  so  tired  and  I  have  chattered 
and  chattered  until  I  almost  feel  better  because  I've 
talked.  As  if  I  mattered  —  beside  you." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  pressed  the  girl's  hand  again. 

"  Nothing  matters  very  much  just  now,"  she  said, 
"  except  God." 

"  But  God  is  so  far  off." 

"  Oh,  no,  He  isn't,  Sylvia. 

' '  Closer  is  He  than  breathing 
And  nearer  than  hands  and  feet.' 

Haven't  you  ever  felt  how  near  He  is  ?  " 

;<  Yes,"  said  Sylvia,  remembering  again  that  night 
when  she  and  Phil  and  the  "  shadowy  third  "  had 
been  so  close  to  each  other  that  there  had  not  been 
a  breath  between  them.  And  then  she  fell  silent, 
led  at  last  unto  the  forest  where  she  had  not  dared 
to  go  for  many  months.  And  in  the  forest  Sylvia 
sought  God. 

It  seemed  an  endless  time  before  they  reached  the 
great  station  in  New  York  but  at  last  they  did  ar- 
rive. There  was  no  one  to  meet  them.  It  was  a 
very  different  arrival  from  the  one  Sylvia  remem- 
bered in  December.  Jeanette  had  been  there  then  to 
greet  her  and  Barb  and  Phil.  She  had  been  breath- 


266  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

less,  exhilarated  with  happiness.  She  remembered 
how  almost  intoxicated  with  sheer  delight  of  living 
she  had  felt  when  Phil  had  helped  her  into  the 
limousine  and  recalled  also  what  a  queer,  deserted, 
almost  lonely  feeling  she  had  experienced,  imme- 
diately after,  when  she  leaned  out  of  the  car  to  wave 
good-by  to  Barb  and  Phil  on  the  curb. 

The  thought  of  Barb  brought  a  new  current  of 
reflection.  For  all  she  knew  it  was  Barb  and  not 
herself  who  had  the  right  to  be  with  Phil  now.  How 
did  she  know  but  he  might  have  learned  to  care  for 
Barb  in  all  those  months  ?  Wasn't  it  probable,  nat- 
ural, that  he  should  have  done  so  ?  Why  should  she 
expect  him  to  keep  on  caring  for  her  while  she  had 
given  herself  to  Jack?  A  panic  seized  her.  All  the 
way  to  the  hospital  even  Phil's  desperate  illness, 
which  she  had  never  seemed  able  to  sense,  loomed 
less  important  than  this  new  specter  which  had 
arisen.  What  if  Barb  should  be  there  with  him? 
What  if  they  should  say  "  Who  is  this  young  per- 
son? The  woman  he  loves  is  there  already  with 
him.  There  is  no  room  for  another." 

But  when  they  reached  the  hospital  no  such  ques- 
tions were  raised.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  swept  every- 
thing aside  with  her  quiet  dignity.  "  I  am  his 
mother,"  she  had  said.  "  And  this  is  Miss  Arden," 


Unto  the  Forest  267 

quite  as  if  the  authorities  knew  and  understood  why 
Miss  Arden  must  be  admitted.  Perhaps  they  did 
understand.  The  doctor  who  challenged  them  shot 
a  quick  questioning  look  at  Sylvia  and  bowed  acqui- 
escence. Possibly  Sylvia's  eyes  were  the  password. 
The  doctor  was  used  to  reading  human  faces.  He 
had  admitted  many  another  white-cheeked,  tortured- 
eyed  young  woman  into  the  chamber  of  the  Shadow 
ere  this.  He  was  gravely  sympathetic.  He  did  not 
expect  the  young  man  in  there  to  live  twenty- four 
hours.  It  would  be  a  miracle,  he  thought,  if  he  got 
well. 

And  so  the  mother  and  the  girl  who  loved  Philip 
Lorrimer  sat  beside  him  all  that  still  night  though 
he  did  not  know  them.  Sylvia  lived  a  thousand  lives 
and  died  a  thousand  deaths  before  the  gray  dawn 
came  to  the  quiet  room.  And  who  knows  what  new 
agonies  the  mother  who  bore  the  lad  suffered  during 
those  long  silent  hours?  To  Sylvia  at  least,  there 
was  something  beautiful  even  in  the  unspeakable  an- 
guish of  it  all.  Even  in  death  Phil  would  be  hers 
and  she  his.  Love  had  crowned  her  as  it  had 
crowned  Gus.  She  no  longer  envied  the  young 
musician  his  Grail  ecstasy.  She,  too,  had  been 
anointed. 

Sylvia  never  knew  whether  she  consciously  prayed 


268  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

that  night.  It  was  rather  that  she  talked  with  God 
and  He  in  His  beneficence  let  her  share  some  of  His 
eternal  secrets. 

And  underneath  it  all  she  was  crying  out  to  Phil, 
"  Don't  die.  Don't  die.  Don't  die.  I  love  you. 
I  love  you.  Come  back.  Come  back."  And  she 
did  not  seem  to  be  saying  it  to  the  inert  form  on  the 
high,  narrow  bed.  That  was  not  Phil  at  all.  Phil 
was  all  strength  and  energy  and  vitality.  That  was 
a  mere  husk  of  something  —  what,  she  did  not  care. 
It  had  nothing  to  do  with  Phil  or  with  herself.  She 
was  sending  out  her  cry,  not  from  her  body  to  his, 
but  from  her  spirit  to  his,  wherever  the  latter  was 
faring.  She  knew  that  wherever  he  was  he  would 
hear  and  almost  she  knew  he  would  come  back. 

The  strange  part  of  it  was  he  did  come  back,  as  if 
Sylvia's  voice  had  arrested  him  and  brought  him 
back  from  those  far  fields  to  which  he  had  been 
journeying.  Perhaps  not  so  strange,  after  all.  The 
wisest  men  of  all  the  ages  have  not  been  able  to  mark 
the  metes  and  bounds  of  the  power  of  love.  At  any 
rate,  whether  Sylvia's  call  had  anything  to  do  with 
it  or  not,  Phil  Lorrimer  came  back.  The  miracle 
was  achieved. 

It  was  early  morning  when  Phil  opened  his  eyes, 
blue  as  ever,  though  dark-circled  and  heavy,  and  the 


Unto  the  Forest  269 

first  thing  he  saw  was  Sylvia,  who  had  just  turned 
from  the  window  where  she  had  been  watching  the 
dawn  come  up  over  the  city  with  strange  unearthly 
light  and  shadow.  Something  of  the  same  light  was 
on  Phil's  face  as  he  recognized  Sylvia.  With  one 
swift  light  step  she  was  beside  him,  her  face  bent 
over  his,  her  heart  in  her  eyes. 

"  Sylvia."  The  voice  was  faint  as  if  the  speaker 
had  come  back  from  other  worlds,  but  distinct,  won- 
dering, happy. 

"Phil!"  And  as  he  felt  Sylvia's  kiss  on  his 
cheek,  Phil  closed  his  eyes  again  as  if  there  were  now 
no  other  bliss  to  attain  in  this  world  or  the  next. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AFTERMATH 

THREE  weeks  later  and  April  had  surprised  even 
the  city  and  taken  it  by  storm.  Buds  were  begin- 
ning to  burst  in  the  trees  in  the  park,  hyacinths  rain- 
bowed  here  and  there,  the  fountains  were  released 
from  their  winter  bondage.  The  river  took  on  a 
bluer  hue  to  match  the  sky,  or  was  it  at  the  hint  of 
the  bird  who  arrived  just  before  Easter  giving  ad- 
vance notice  of  the  latest  colors  in  Nature's  fashion 
house,  bearing  samples  on  his  own  back? 

In  Miss  Josephine  Murray's  little  apartment  Su- 
zanne and  Barb  and  Sylvia  were  assembled,  one  blue 
and  gold  afternoon,  with  tongues  flying  fast  as  of 
old. 

"When  is  Phil  going  to  be  able  to  be  moved?  " 
Suzanne  was  demanding  of  Sylvia.  "  And  where 
is  he  going  to  move  to?  " 

"  Next  week,  we  hope.  And  he  is  coming  to 
Arden  Hall." 

"  Bless  us !  how  modern !  "  teased  Suzanne. 

Sylvia  flushed  and  shook  her  head. 

270 


Aftermath  271 

"  It  isn't  so  specially  modern.  It  is  just  natural. 
The  doctors  say  he  has  to  get  out  of  the  city.  His 
mother  thinks  she  has  to  get  back  to  the  girls,  and 
she  also  thinks  there  is  no  doctor  in  the  world  equal 
to  Doctor  Tom  and  wants  him  to  set  his  eye  on  Phil. 
Of  course,  he  can't  go  to  '  Hester  house.'  That 
would  be  too  absurd  and  he'd  hate  it  anyway  —  with 
all  those  sympathetic  females  in  attendance.  There 
is  always  plenty  of  room  at  the  Hall,  and  it  is  lovely 
there  in  April.  So  he's  coming,"  she  concluded. 

"  Reasons  as  plenty  as  blackberries,"  jeered  Su- 
zanne. "  Perfectly  well  explained.  What  do  you 
happen  to  be  doing  with  your  fiance  in  the  mean- 
time?" 

Sylvia  looked  up  at  that,  meeting  Suzanne's  eyes 
squarely. 

"  I  haven't  any,"  she  announced  quietly.  "Jack 
has  known  for  three  weeks  I  wasn't  going  to  marry 
him.  In  fact,  he  suggested  it  himself." 

"  More  and  more  modern,"  approved  Suzanne. 
"  It  is  indeed  well  to  be  off  with  the  old  love  before 
you  are  on  with  the  new.  When  are  you  going  to 
announce  your  next  engagement  ?  " 

"  Maybe  never,"  said  Sylvia  so  soberly  that  Su- 
zanne relented  and  obligingly  turned  the  fire  on  her- 
self. 


272  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Speaking  of  being  off  with  the  old  love,  it  seems 
to  be  the  one  thing  I  can't  manage.  Roger  and  I 
have  decided  we  miss  quarreling  so  much  when  we 
are  separated  that  it's  simpler  and  more  agreeable  to 
get  married  and  quarrel  in  peace." 

At  which  last  Suzanne's  que  paradox  Sylvia  and 
Barb  laughed  and  proffered  congratulations. 

"  Better  offer  Roger  condolences  instead,"  advised 
Suzanne.  "  I  shall  lead  him  a  life." 

"Is  he  coming  to  New  York  to  live?"  inquired 
Barb,  remembering  her  friend's  urban  preferences. 

"  He  is  not.  He  is  having  far  too  much  fun  stir- 
ring things  up  in  Norton,  Pa.  We  are  going  in 
for  politics.  I  think  I  shall  let  him  run  for  mayor. 
There  will  be  a  lovely  row,  for  all  the  crooks  are 
afraid  of  him  now,  and  it  isn't  a  circumstance  to 
what  they'll  be  if  they  suspect  he  wants  to  raise  that 
particular  tempest  in  their  cozy,  grafty  teapot." 
Suzanne  chuckled,  scenting  battle  afar  off.  A 
"  scrap  "  was  as  the  elixir  of  life  to  her.  "  I  don't 
want  to  live  in  New  York,  anyway,"  she  continued. 
"  I  couldn't  bear  to  be  very  far  off  from  mother,  and 
it's  much  more  distinguished  to  draw  my  royalties 
and  breath  on  some  sacred  Parnassian  Hill  in  Nor- 
ton, Pa.  Likewise  it  is  less  expensive.  I  shall  come 
up  often,  however,  if  only  to  see  that  they  do  not 


Aftermath  273 

murder  my  precious  play.  Vengeance  is  mine 
if  they  touch  one  hair  —  that  is,  one  line — of 
its  bles  sed  substance.  Remember  my  prophecy, 
sweet  friends?  I-did-write-a-play."  And,  lacking 
a  cushion,  Suzanne  thumped  the  tea  table  with  her 
fist  until  the  cups  rattled  ominously. 

"  You  did,"  agreed  Sylvia.  "  And  here  is  Barbie 
here,  an  ornament  to  the  Cause.  Wait  until  you 
see  her  marching  in  the  parade  next  fall !  Wait  till 
you  know  what  she  did  to  the  legislators  when  she 
bearded  them  at  Albany !  She  is  so  modest  she  will 
hide  her  light  under  a  bushel,  but  I'm  all  the  time 
hearing  things  about  her.  Phil  says  she's  a  wonder- 
ful speechifier.  To  the  victor  —  in  her  own  col- 
ors !  "  And  Sylvia  dropped  the  yellow  jonquils  she 
was  wearing  in  her  friend's  lap  and  bent  over  her  to 
press  a  butterfly  kiss  on  her  forehead. 

Sylvia  and  Barb  had  come  very  close  to  each  other 
during  the  latter's  recent  stay  in  the  city.  Phil  Lor- 
rimer's  accident  had  been  a  fiery  ordeal  for  Barbara 
as  well  as  Sylvia,  and  Sylvia,  guessing  this,  felt  very 
tender  toward  the  other  girl.  Never  once  did  they 
reach  the  point  of  putting  things  into  words.  But 
words  were  not  essential  to  mutual  understanding. 
Barb  and  Sylvia  knew  all  there  was  to  know,  each 
about  the  other,  without  communication  on  the  sub- 


274  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

ject  and  their  love  was  the  stronger  for  knowing. 

Perhaps  the  closest  Barbara  ever  came  to  a  con- 
fession was  when  she  said  to  Sylvia  once  that  she 
didn't  believe  there  was  a  single  woman  who  was  a 
really  inspired  worker  in  the  Cause  who  hadn't  a 
hurt  of  her  own  somewhere  underneath  to  make  her 
pitiful  of  scars  other  women  carried.  "  I  guess 
maybe  they  are  even  thankful  for  their  hurts  when 
they  have  healed  a  little,"  she  had  added  with  Barb- 
like  naivete.  "  It  makes  them  understand  so  much 
more.  You've  got  to  understand  to  care." 

And  Sylvia  had  understood  and  cared  so  much  for 
Barbara's  hurt  that  she  would  not  offer  her  the  last 
spear  thrust  —  the  word  of  spoken  compassion. 
And,  after  all,  Sylvia  could  hardly  help  seeing  that 
Barb  scarcely  needed  compassion.  She,  too,  had 
her  Grail  fire  to  follow  and  it  took  her  to  high  places. 

"  Oh,  Barb  is  some  little  wonder!  "  Suzanne  had 
agreed.  "  Isn't  it  funny  how  much  we've  all  been 
through  since  September  and  yet  we  aren't  any  of  us 
so  cock-sure  about  things  as  we  were  then?  I  was 
the  worst  —  the  most  Sophomoric  of  the  three  — 
and  maybe  I've  come  the  worst  croppers  just  because 
I  had  to  have  the  cock-sureness  forcibly  if  not  pain- 
lessly extracted.  Anyway,  I  don't  want  to  go  back 
and  be  the  Suzanne  of  September,  nineteen  hundred 


Aftermath  275 

and  fourteen  again.  What  about  the  rest  of  you? 
Would  you  like  old  Time  to  turn  back  in  his  flight?  " 

"  No,"  said  Sylvia  and  Barb  in  emphatic  chorus. 
Then  they  all  laughed  and  grew  sober. 

"  It  is  a  vote,"  declared  Suzanne. 

When  Sylvia  got  back  to  her  hotel  she  found  a 
message  from  Jeanette  Latham  inviting  her  to  din- 
ner. A  little  reluctantly  she  telephoned  acceptance. 
She  was  not  very  anxious  to  see  Jeanette,  not  only 
because  she  had  rather  distasteful  memories  of  her 
recent  visit  but  because  she  dreaded  meeting  any  of 
Jack's  people  just  now.  It  seemed  to  her  they  must 
dislike  and  despise  her  for  her  treatment  of  Jack. 
Not  that  she  blamed  them  for  that.  No  one  could 
judge  her  more  harshly  than  she  judged  herself  on 
that  score. 

Arrived  at  the  great  house  on  the  drive,  Sylvia 
was  informed  that  Mrs.  Latham  was  in  her  own 
room  and  begged  that  Miss  Arden  would  come  up. 
The  two  kissed  and  then  drew  back  each  surveying 
the  other  woman  fashion,  out  of  the  tail  of  her  eye. 

Jeanette  was  a  little  pale,  Sylvia  thought,  but 
somehow  prettier  than  she  had  been  in  December, 
her  rich  brunette  glow  softened  and  subdued  a  little. 
She  was  wearing  an  exquisite  rose-colored  robe 
above  which  her  lovely  full  throat  gleamed  white  and 


276  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

her  eyes  looked  darker  and  more  brilliant  than  ever. 

"  Sylvia,  it  is  good  to  see  you,"  she  murmured. 
"  Take  off  your  wraps.  We  are  going  to  have  din- 
ner up  here  if  you  don't  mind.  Francis  is  dining 
out.  We  can  have  a  cozy  gossip  all  to  ourselves." 

As  the  dainty  little  dinner  was  being  served  the 
two  talked  about  everything  in  general  and  nothing 
in  particular,  taking  pains  to  avoid  anything  that 
could  possibly  interest  either.  It  was  only  after 
the  meal  was  cleared  away  and  the  maid  banished 
that  they  came  to  the  really  important  things. 

"  Sylvia,  I  know  you  think  I  am  going  to  be  dis- 
agreeable about  Jack.  I'm  not.  I'm  glad.  No, 
don't  speak  yet.  I  want  to  tell  you  why  I  am  glad. 
I  knew  you  didn't  care  for  Jack,  at  least  not  enough. 
You  sort  of  half  way  cared  just  as  I  did  for  Francis. 
You  thought  it  would  be  suitable  and  agreeable  and 
easy  and  please  everybody  all  round  especially  Jack. 
And  you  thought  that  the  rest  would  come  in  time, 
didn't  you?" 

Sylvia  nodded  in  shamed  silence. 

"  On  the  whole,  your  reasons  for  getting  engaged 
were  quite  as  creditable  as  mine  for  getting  engaged 
to  Francis,  certainly  more  so  than  Isabel's  for  get- 
ting engaged  to  her  miserable  count.  But,  even  so, 
they  weren't  good  enough.  There  is  only  one  rea- 


Aftermath  277 

son  for  getting  engaged  to  a  man,  anyway,  only  one 
for  marrying  him,  and  that  is  just  plain  old-fash- 
ioned love.  I  found  that  out  in  a  very  expensive 
course  of  lessons.  You  didn't  love  Jack.  I  knew  it 
that  night.  I  had  just  sent  Charlton  away  and  I 
knew  the  real  thing  —  what  it  was.  I  care  more 
for  Jack  than  almost  anybody  in  the  world  and  I 
didn't  want  him  to  be  unhappy  any  more  than  you 
did,  but  he  is  going  to  be  more  unhappy  now  than  if 
you  had  said  no  last  December." 

Sylvia  winced  at  that. 

"  I  know  it,  Jeanette.  I  am  as  sorry  about  that 
as  you  can  possibly  be." 

"  I  know.  I  didn't  mean  to  reproach  you.  I  just 
wanted  to  tell  you  I  know  it  was  better  this  way, 
hard  as  it  is  for  Jack.  He'll  get  over  it  now.  At 
least,  I  hope  he  will,  but  if  you  had  married  him  he 
wouldn't  have  gotten  over  it.  He  would  have  been 
like  Francis.  Francis  knows  I  don't  care.  At  least 
he  knows  I  didn't  use  to  care.  It  has  hurt  him  pretty 
badly  sometimes,  I'm  afraid.  Maybe  now  he'll  un- 
derstand. I'm  not  so  bad  as  I  might  have  been. 
I  —  Sylvia,  do  you  know  why  I  sent  Charlton 
away?" 

Sylvia  shook  her  head. 

"  I  had  just  found  out  —  something  —  about  my- 


278  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

self.  I  am  not  much  good  but  I  couldn't  go  on  with 
that  kind  of  thing  when  I  knew —  Sylvia,  please 
understand.  It  is  harder  to  say  than  I  thought." 

And  suddenly  Sylvia  did  understand,  and  came 
and  put  her  arms  around  the  other  woman  with  real 
joy  and  affection. 

"If  it  will  only  be  a  boy,"  sighed  Jeanette.  "  It 
is  dreadful  to  be  a  woman  in  this  world,  and  Dad 
would  like  it  so,  and  so  would  Francis." 

When  she  returned  to  the  hotel  again  there  was  a 
letter  from  Jack  waiting  for  Sylvia,  the  second  only 
since  she  had  come  to  New  York.  The  first  had 
been  in  response  to  her  telegram  announcing  that 
Phil  was  surely  out  of  danger.  It  had  been  a  very 
brief  letter,  expressing  his  relief  and  pleasure  at  the 
good  news  of  Phil's  recovery.  "  And  Sylvia,  Be- 
lovedest,"  it  had  added,  "  don't  forget  I  meant  just 
what  I  said  that  day.  Don't  bother  about  me. 
I  don't  count.  Nothing  counts  except  your  being 
happy.  I  believe  I  have  always  known  it  was  Phil 
you  really  cared  for.  Anyway,  I  know  it  now. 
You  have  always  been  an  angel  of  goodness  to  me 
and  I  am  grateful.  It  has  been  just  Jack  and  Jill 
going  up  the  hill.  Jack  fell  down  and  broke  his 
crown  all  right,  but  there  is  no  reason  in  the  world 
why  Jill  should  come  tumbling  after.  And  in  order 


Aftermath  279 

to  prevent  such  a  disaster  the  best  thing  Jack  can 
say  is  good-by." 

Sylvia  had  written  back  a  long,  affectionate  and 
remorseful  letter  blaming  herself  wholly  and  severely 
and  accepting  his  proffered  release  from  their  en- 
gagement. She  had  not  heard  from  him  again  until 
now.  Consequently  she  tore  open  the  letter  with 
some  trepidation. 

"  Dear  Sylvia,"  —  So  it  ran  — 

"  I  am  sailing  to-morrow  to  join  the  American 
Ambulance  Field  Service  in  France.  It  isn't  a  new 
notion.  It  has  been  in  the  back  of  my  brain  a  long 
time.  I  should  have  gone  in  December  if  you  had 
refused  me  then.  I  am  not  much  good  at  anything 
but  driving  a  car.  I  stuck  to  the  business  because 
you  wanted  me  to  but  my  heart  wasn't  in  it.  Dad 
understands,  and  is  perfectly  willing  I  should  go. 
Don't  misunderstand  me,  please,  sweetheart.  I  am 
not  doing  this  for  gallery  play  or  to  work  on  your 
feelings.  And  I'm  not  going  to  talk  any  tommy- 
rot  about  my  life  being  spoiled  and  wanting  to 
throw  it  away.  I  don't  want  to  throw  it  away.  I 
want  to  find  it  if  I  can  over  there.  It  seems  to  me 
France  ought  to  drive  whip  and  spur  into  any  chap 
and  make  a  man  of  him.  Anyway,  I'm  going  to 


280  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

have  a  try  at  it.  Of  course  there  is  a  little  danger 
—  not  much.  You  must  not  worry.  Danger 
agrees  with  me,  and  I'm  a  lucky  chap  in  everything 
but  love.  Best  wishes  to  old  Phil.  Remember  that 
means  in  everything. 

"  I  would  have  come  to  say  good-by  in  person, 
but  it  took  a  little  more  nerve  than  I  have  just  now. 
It  was  easier  for  both  of  us  for  me  to  make  a  quiet 
getaway.  Wish  me  luck,  Sylvia. 

"  Yours,  as  always, 

"  JACK." 

Sylvia  read  the  letter,  dazed,  troubled  but  by  no 
means  surprised.  It  was  like  Jack  to  do  the  gallant, 
generous,  splendid,  impulsive  thing.  As  she  fin- 
ished she  made  a  rapid  calculation.  "  I  sail  to-mor- 
row." That  must  mean  to-day.  He  was  already 
gone.  Somewhere  out  beyond  the  harbor  his  ship 
was  plowing  its  way  toward  France.  The  tears 
came  into  her  eyes.  Jack  was  very  dear  to  her. 
Why,  oh  why  had  she  driven  him  to  this  unneces- 
sary danger,  this  fearful  carnage  field  overseas? 
And  yet  was  he  not  right  ?  Would  he  not  find  some- 
thing worth  the  risk  in  the  stern  realities  of  that 
glorious  and  tragic  country  he  went  to  aid?  That 
he  had  not  gone  into  it  lightly  she  saw.  He  had 


Aftermath  281 

counted  the  possible  cost  as  any  man  who  was  not  a 
fool  must  count  it.  But  he  had  not  gone  in  bravado 
or  in  bitterness.  He  had  taken  pains  to  show  her 
that.  He  had  gone  simply,  in  quiet  earnest  to  prove 
himself,  not  to  throw  away  his  life  recklessly  but  to 
find  it  as  he  said.  Dear  Jack !  No  wonder  Sylvia's 
eyes  were  wet  as  she  folded  his  letter  and  put  it  back 
in  its  envelope. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

HIGH    TIDE 

FOR  weeks  after  his  injury  Phil  Lorrimer  had 
been  too  sick  to  care  very  much  about  anything  ex- 
cept the  agreeable  fact  that  his  mother  and  Sylvia 
hovered  over  him  like  seraphim  as  he  assured  them 
later.  It  had  mattered  very  little  to  him  where  he 
was  nor  how  he  got  there  so  long  as  Sylvia  was 
there  too.  It  might  be  Heaven  for  all  he  knew. 
For  a  while  it  had  seemed  quite  probable  it  was 
Heaven,  for  he  remembered  quite  distinctly  that 
Sylvia  had  kissed  him  and  she  had  never  done  that 
on  earth  he  was  quite  certain. 

But  presently  his  mind  had  cleared  and  things  had 
been  explained.  He  heard  how  he  had  been  hurt 
and  how  his  mother  had  come  at  once.  Neither  of 
these  things  seemed  hard  to  grasp.  But  why  was 
Sylvia  here?  Sylvia  was  engaged  to  Jack.  Why 
was  she  here  spending  long  hours  by  his  bedside? 
Sylvia  was  always  kind.  It  must  have  been  sheer 
kindness  that  brought  her  he  concluded.  But  some- 

282 


High  Tide  288 

how  there  appeared  to  be  more  than  kindness  in 
Sylvia's  eyes,  though  after  that  heavenly  dream  she 
had  not  kissed  him  again. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  almost  able  to  travel  that 
Sylvia  told  him  that  she  and  Jack  were  no  longer 
engaged,  that  they  had  decided  it  had  all  been  a 
mistake  and  that  Jack  had  gone  to  France.  Phil 
took  the  news  in  silence  and  sobriety.  He  had  very 
little  to  say  on  that  subject  or  any  other  for  the 
rest  of  the  day.  And  Sylvia,  suddenly  self-con- 
scious, had  kept  away  from  the  hospital  on  the  next 
day.  But  on  the  next,  the  day  before  the  cavalcade 
was  to  start  for  Greendale,  she  came.  Phil  was 
sitting  by  the  window  looking  somewhat  like  his  old 
self  though  gaunt  and  lean  as  a  wintered  wolf. 

"  You  weren't  here  yesterday,"  he  accused  sternly. 

"  No.  What  a  spoiled  invalid  you  are  getting  to 
be !  You  don't  expect  to  see  me  every  day,  do  you  ? 
Those  carnations  need  fresh  water.  I'll  get  some." 
Sylvia  turned,  flowers  in  hand,  but  Phil  had  waxed 
suddenly,  unexpectedly  imperious. 

"  Put  'em  down,"  he  ordered  so  stentoriously  that 
Sylvia  obeyed  without  really  intending  to. 

"  Come  here,"  he  still  further  ordered.  Sylvia  did 
not  come  nearer  but  she  did  stand  perfectly  still  look- 
ing at  him. 


284  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  I  missed  you  like  the  devil  yesterday,"  he  ob- 
served. 

"  You  flatter  me,"  said  Sylvia. 

He  ignored  her  irony. 

"  I  say,  are  you  really  not  engaged  any  more?  " 

Sylvia  admitted  that  she  really  was  not. 

"Why  did  you  end  it?" 

"  I  told  you.  We  decided  that  it  was  a  mis- 
take." 

"When?" 

"  A  few  weeks  ago." 

"Precisely  when?" 

"  The  night  I  knew  you  were  hurt."  Sylvia 
faced  him  steadily  now.  If  he  wanted  facts  he 
should  have  them. 

"  Was  that  why  you  broke  it  off?  " 

"  I  didn't  break  it  off.     Jack  did." 

"  You  mean  he  didn't  like  your  coming  here  to 
me?" 

"  No.  It  wasn't  that.  He  just  knew  —  well,  he 
knew  I  couldn't  marry  him.  Jack  is  a  dear.  He 
always  sees  things  without  being  told." 

"  And  I  don't  see  things  until  they  are  rammed 
into  my  darn  fool  eyes.  Is  that  it  ?  " 

Sylvia  acknowledged  that  that  seemed  to  be  a 
fair  statement  of  the  case. 


High  Tide  285 

'  You  tried  to  show  me  a  thing  or  two  last  win- 
ter?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  when  I  wouldn't  look,  you  cut  me  good 
and  proper  as  I  deserved  and  got  engaged  to  Jack  ?  " 

Sylvia  nodded. 

"Sylvia!" 

"Well?" 

"  Barb  opened  my  eyes  as  to  what  an  idiot  I'd 
been  about  the  money  business.  She  did  it  one 
night,  too  late  though.  I  rushed  out  to  see  you  the 
next  day,  first  minute  I  had,  and  Jeanette  told  me 
you  were  engaged  to  jack  and  had  gone  home. 
That  cooked  my  goose,  all  right." 

"  Well,  the  silly  fowl  ought  to  have  been  cooked." 
There  was  a  faint  twinkle  in  Sylvia's  eyes. 

"Granted,"  agreed  Phil  heartily.  "See  here, 
Sylvia,  I've  a  whole  lot  of  things  to  say  to  you  but  a 
man  in  a  bath  robe  doesn't  cut  a  very  impressive 
figure  saying  the  things  I've  got  to  say  and  — " 

"  Don't  say  them  then.  I  insist  on  being  im- 
pressed. Besides,  it  is  time  you  went  back  to  bed. 
I'm  going,  anyway." 

"Sylvia!" 

Sylvia  paused  in  the  doorway. 

"  Did  you  kiss  me  that  night  or  did  I  dream  it?  " 


286  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  The  idea!  "  But  Sylvia's  cheeks  were  less  am- 
biguous in  their  answer  than  her  lips  as  she  fled  into 
the  corridor. 

"  Bless  her !  "  grunted  Phil.  "  Just  wait  until  I 
get  on  my  feet.  I  wouldn't  care  if  she  were  Miss 
Midas  herself,  I'd  run  off  with  her.  I  wish  she'd 
kiss  me  again." 

But  it  was  May  now  and  Sylvia  had  not  kissed 
him  again.  Though  she  took  very  good  care  of  her 
guest  that  particular  attention  did  not  seem  to  be 
included  in  the  list.  Up  to  this  time,  too,  Phil  had 
not  been  sufficiently  "  on  his  feet "  either  to  run  off 
with  his  hostess  or  even  to  have  the  presumption  to 
ask  her  to  marry  him. 

May  in  Maryland!  Is  there  anything  lovelier 
the  world  over?  Roses  in  the  gardens,  wistaria 
dripping  purple  trails  from  the  balconies,  waxen, 
fragrant  magnolia  bloom!  Red  bud  and  dogwood 
on  the  hills!  Green  fire  everywhere! 

In  Sylvia's  garden  Phil  Lorrimer  lay  stretched  at 
ease  in  a  canopied  hammock  watching  a  pair  of  red 
birds  carry  on  a  lively  courtship  in  the  magnolia 
tree.  He  was  getting  on  famously  it  was  declared. 
Certainly  he  felt  too  much  energy  to  be  willing  to 
stay  recumbent  much  longer.  He  was  beginning  to 
be  restless.  It  was  a  wonder  he  had  not  begun  be- 


High  Tide  287 

fere.  It  was  not  so  long  ago  that  if  any  one  had 
told  him  he  would  stay  contentedly  for  nearly  two 
months  away  from  his  beloved  clinic  he  would  have 
thought  them  mad  and  no  doubt  told  them  so.  But 
sickness  is  a  powerful  leveller  and  Phil  had  other 
things  on  his  mind  beside  medicine  and  surgery 
these  May  days. 

"  Enter  egg  nogg,"  announced  Sylvia  suddenly 
arriving,  Hebe  like,  with  a  tray  and  a  tall  glass  of 
foaming  yellow  deliciousness. 

Phil  sat  up. 

"  Gee !  What  business  has  a  great  hulking  idiot 
like  me  to  loaf  around  and  let  an  angel  like  you 
wait  on  him  hand  and  foot  ?  " 

"  Angels  aren't  conspicuous  for  their  hands  and 
feet.  They  are  all  wings  like  that  mosquito  there. 
Don't  let  him  bite.  He'll  disfigure  your  beauty. 
And  don't  stop  to  concoct  highfaluting  speeches. 
Your  business  is  to  drink." 

"  All  right  I  will,  if  you'll  sit  down  too."  He 
patted  the  hammock  beside  him  and  Sylvia  accepted 
the  invitation. 

When  he  had  disposed  of  the  egg  nogg  he  set  the 
empty  glass  on  the  tray  on  the  grass  where  Sylvia 
had  deposited  it.  Then  he  turned  to  look  at  his  com- 
panion. Sylvia  was  well  worth  looking  at  these 


288  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

days.  Her  old  rose  bloom  and  "  moonshininess  " 
were  back  again.  She  had  returned  close  to  the 
"  jubilant  springs  "  from  which  she  had  journeyed 
afar  during  the  troublous  winter  past,  though  per- 
haps the  little  girl  Sylvia  had  disappeared  forever  in 
the  course  of  her  devious  wayfaring.  At  any  rate, 
the  new  womanliness  was  very  becoming. 

"  Is  this  a  good  time  to  propose?  "  demanded  Phil 
so  suddenly  that  Sylvia  blushed  like  a  schoolgirl 
and  drooped  her  head,  but  her  lips  twitched  roguishly 
as  she  averred  that  it  was  as  good  a  time  as  any. 

"  Very  well.  Remember  I'm  scared  to  death.  I 
never  proposed  to  a  girl  before  in  my  life  and  I'm 
never  going  to  do  it  again.  One,  two,  three !  Syl- 
via, will  you  marry  me  ?  " 

Sylvia  lifted  her  head  then  and  her  eyes  met 
Phil's  straight  and  brave  with  the  fine  surrender  of 
a  proud  woman. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  Thank  the  Lord !  "  Phil  mopped  his  perspiring 
brow.  "  If  you  don't  mind  kissing  me  again  I'd  feel 
a  little  more  as  if  it  were  real.  I've  lived  a  dread- 
fully long  time  on  that  heavenly  kiss.  I'd  like  an 
earth  one,  please." 

An  hour  later  they  were  still  in  the  hammock  as 
blissful  and  mutually  self-absorbed  as  the  redbirds. 


High  Tide  289 

"  Sylvia,  do  you  realize  that  I  haven't  any  money, 
thanks  to  this  heavenly-infernal  smash  up  of  mine, 
that  even  my  job  is  knocked  galley  westward  by  all 
this  business?  If  I  weren't  too  jolly  happy  to  think 
at  all  I  should  think  I  was  an  idiot  and  an  ass  if 
nothing  worse  to  ask  a  girl  to  marry  me  under  the 
circumstances." 

"  Don't  think,"  said  Sylvia.  "  What  is  the  use? 
You  will  get  caught  up  quick  enough  when  you  are 
well  again.  Don't  talk  about  money.  It  leaves  a 
bad  taste  in  your  mouth." 

"  All  right,  I  won't.  But,  Sylvia,  there  is  an- 
other thing."  Phil's  eyes  strayed  over  the  beautiful 
May  sweet  garden,  on  to  the  great  red  brick  house 
whose  open  doors  suggested  hospitality  and  affluence 
and  home  happiness  on  a  bountiful  scale.  "  Have 
you  thought  you  will  have  to  give  this  up  and  come 
and  live  in  a  little  airtight  compartment  in  New 
York?" 

For  a  moment  Sylvia  was  startled  out  of  her  new 
content.  Her  eyes,  too,  followed  Phil's.  Never 
had  Arden  Hall  seemed  so  dear,  so  infinitely  desir- 
able as  now  in  the  ripe  hour  of  her  happiness. 
Somehow  she  had  never  thought  of  that  particular 
complication  though  it  was  obvious  enough.  To 
lose  the  Hall  now  that  she  had  just  come  into  the 


290  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

very  heart  of  it,  or  to  have  it  again  for  brief  holi- 
days only,  snatched  "  on  the  wing  "  as  she  had  said 
once  before!  A  redbird  flashed  like  a  flame  before 
her  in  the  sunshine.  The  redbirds  would  soon  be 
nesting.  Mechanically  the  thought  crossed  her 
mind.  Nesting !  That  was  it.  She,  too,  would  be 
nesting  in  the  heart  of  the  man  she  loved.  She 
looked  back  to  Phil  who  was  watching  her  with 
troubled  eyes. 

"  I  shan't  care,  if  I  have  you,"  she  said. 

And  it  was  true,  would  always  be  true  for  Sylvia 
Arden.  She  had  been  like  the  empty  marshes,  wait- 
ing for  the  tide  to  come  in.  The  tide  had  come, 
full  flood,  sweeping  every  inlet  and  lagoon.  There 
were  no  vacant  places  in  her  whole  being.  Love 
filled  it  all.  Nothing  mattered  any  more  except  this 
big,  strange,  beautiful,  engulfing  thing  which  had 
come  to  her  and  taken  possession.  Felicia's  proph- 
ecy had  come  true.  Sylvia  had  found  the  real  thing 
at  last,  and  knew  the  difference  between  it  and  the 
spacious  substitute  with  which  she  had  striven  to  be 
content. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WARP   AND   WOOF 

EARLY  in  June,  Sylvia  and  her  little  circle  were 
shocked  and  saddened  by  the  sudden  death  of  An- 
gus Mclntosh.  He  had  gone  to  the  office  as  usual 
but  had  come  in  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  in  the 
dusk  Gus  had  found  him  sitting  in  the  big  chair  be- 
neath his  mother's  picture  looking  as  serene  as  if  he 
had  just  fallen  asleep.  It  seemed  there  had  been  for 
quite  a  while  past  the  probability  that  the  very  thing 
which  had  happened  would  happen.  This  Gus  had 
known  and  had  been  in  a  measure  prepared,  though 
we  are  never  fully  armed  against  such  loss.  When 
our  dear  ones  leave  us  there  is  always  a  sad  surprise 
about  it.  We  can  never  quite  believe  they  can  really 
go,  however  we  think  our  minds  are  fortified. 

Silent  in  his  grief  as  in  his  love,  Gus  went  quietly 
about  the  grave  duties  which  his  foster-father's 
death  imposed  upon  him,  but  no  one  could  have  seen 
the  lad  and  not  known  he  was  suffering  acutely.  To 
Sylvia  alone  he  seemed  able  to  voice  the  grief  that 

291 


292  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

possessed  him  and  to  her  he  turned  with  natural  im- 
pulse to  seek  solace  from  one  who  knew  what  the 
dead  man  had  meant  to  the  lonely  boy.  Sylvia 
gave  him  all  the  comfort  and  friending  she  could 
in  his  hour  of  need.  She  felt  very  pitiful  for  him 
not  only  because  of  this  sorrow  but  because  she 
knew  he  had  another  scarcely  healed  hurt,  though 
this  new  grief  had  driven  it  into  the  background. 

When  the  old  man's  will  was  read  many  were  sur- 
prised to  learn  that  aside  from  some  bequests  to  serv- 
ants and  old  friends  and  a  small  annuity  to  "  my 
beloved  son,  Augustus  Nichols,"  the  bulk  of  Angus 
Mclntosh's  hard  earned  and  considerable  property 
was  left  to  Thomas  Daly  in  trusteeship  to  found  a 
hospital  for  Greendale.  When  people  tried  to  com- 
miserate Gus  on  his  rather  meager  sharings  he  had 
rejected  their  condolences.  It  appeared  he  had  for 
some  time  known  of  the  disposition  Angus  Mclntosh 
had  made  of  his  estate.  It  had,  indeed,  been  by  the 
lad's  own  wish  that  he  was  not  burdened  by  the  man- 
agement and  responsibility  of  a  great  property. 

"  What  would  I  want  with  all  that  money  ?  "  he 
asked  Sylvia.  "  I  should  have  hated  it.  I  don't 
want  money.  I've  never  wanted  it.  I've  had  more 
than  my  share  already  in  my  musical  training. 
Thanks  to  his  generosity,  my  violin  will  bring  me  all 


Warp  and  Woof  293 

the  income  I  can  stand.  I  couldn't  tend  to  a  big 
property  and  keep  on  playing.  I've  got  to  play.  It 
is  all  I'm  fit  for.  He  understood.  We  talked  it 
over  so  often.  And  he  didn't  want  to  fritter  away 
his  money  in  little  driblets  in  small  charities.  He 
wanted  to  leave  it  in  a  lump  sum  where  it  would 
really  do  some  good.  The  hospital  seemed  to  be  the 
best.  His  mother  died  because  she  didn't  have 
proper  medical  care.  It  always  hurt  him  to  think 
about  it.  He  wants  a  room  named  after  her.  Oh, 
he  knew  exactly  what  he  was  doing.  I  wish  people 
would  stop  sympathizing  with  me.  I  don't  want 
their  sympathy." 

So  surprisingly  it  came  about  that  Tom  Daly's 
castle  in  the  air  suddenly  appeared  convertible  to 
brick  and  mortar.  And  the  beauty  of  having  it  so 
minutely  and  perfectly  planned  in  advance  was  that 
there  need  not  be  the  slightest  delay  in  getting  the 
substance  of  things  hoped  for  under  way.  Thanks 
to  Doctor  Tom's  unflagging  effort  other  bequests  to 
the  hospital  were  already  forthcoming,  including 
Lois  Daly's  gift  of  love,  but  the  big  unhampered 
lump  sum  provided  by  Angus  Mclntosh's  will  made 
it  possible  to  carry  out  the  doctor's  dreams  on  a 
scale  which  he  had  hardly  dared  hope  to  contem- 
plate hitherto. 


294  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

One  day  Phil  Lorrimer,  up  in  New  York,  had  a 
letter  from  Tom  Daly.  The  latter  had  for  some 
time  been  considering  the  advisability,  even  the  ne- 
cessity, of  taking  to  himself  a  professional  partner. 
His  hands  had  been  already  full  before  the  hospital 
project  had  matured.  Now  they  were  overflowing. 
All  of  which  was  preliminary  to  asking  the  younger 
man  if  he  would  consider  moving  to  Greendale  to 
become  Tom  Daly's  associate. 

Phil's  breath  came  hard  as  he  read.  It  was  of  all 
things  the  one  he  would  have  liked  best  if  he  had 
chosen.  Tom  Daly  had  long  been  a  boyish  idol  of 
his,  and  since  the  boy  had  attained  his  own  manhood 
he  had  seen  even  more  clearly  the  bigness  of  the 
other  man's  vision,  the  scope  of  the  service  he  was 
rendering  Greendale.  Nothing  could  have  pleased 
or  flattered  the  young  doctor  more  than  that  Tom 
Daly  should  consider  him  worthy  of  the  proffered 
post. 

Moreover,  Phil's  sickness  had  taken  heavy  toll 
even  of  his  abundant  young  vitality.  It  would  be 
a  year  at  least  before  he  would  be  perfectly  strong 
again,  and  he  had  been  warned  since  he  had  been 
back  that  it  was  extremely  doubtful  whether  he 
would  be  able  to  stand  the  city  work  and  city  life. 
Here  was  his  release  in  dignified,  desirable  form. 


Warp  and  Woof  295 

There  were  other  considerations,  too.  It  was  no 
small  inducement  that  he  could  be  near  his  mother 
in  Greendale.  He  had  realized  more  than  ever  of 
late  how  hard  it  was  for  her  to  have  her  loved  ones 
so  scattered.  His  father  was  in  China,  his  sister  in 
Constantinople,  he  himself  might  just  as  well  be  at 
the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth  for  all  she  saw  of 
him  under  normal  conditions.  And  his  going  to 
Greendale  would  put  an  end  to  that  source  of  regret 
and  anxiety. 

But,  chief  of  all  naturally,  was  the  knowledge  that 
the  arrangement  would  bring  joy  to  Sylvia.  In 
spite  of  her  sincere  willingness  to  go  anywhere  with 
him  he  knew  it  was  hard  for  her  to  leave  the  be- 
loved home  of  her  heart.  And  now  there  would  be 
no  need  of  such  a  sacrifice.  The  cottage  and  the 
Hall  were  but  a  stone  throw  apart,  an  admirable 
proximity  so  far  as  the  professional  partnership  was 
concerned. 

So  Phil  wired,  "  Accept  gladly,  if  Sylvia  ap- 
proves," and  had  hardly  sent  the  message  before  an 
enthusiastic  letter  arrived  from  Sylvia  imploring 
him  to  say  yes  to  Doctor  Tom's  proposition  if  it  were 
not  in  any  way  contrary  to  his  wishes  and  ambi- 
tions. 

"  Of  course  it  is  just  too  heavenly  to  think  of  our 


296  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

living  at  Arden  Hall,"  she  had  written,  "  but,  Phil, 
don't  let  any  thought  of  me  influence  your  decision. 
Whatever  you  want,  I  want.  You  know  I'd  be 
happy  going  to  sea  in  a  sieve  with  you  if  you  elected 
to  be  a  sieve  pilot.  But,  oh  Phil,  I  can't  help  hoping 
you  will  want  to  come  to  Greendale." 

All  of  which  made  Sylvia's  approval  fairly  evi- 
dent. 

Soon  after  this  Phil  went  to  call  on  the  Huntleys, 
who  had  been  kindness  itself  to  him  and  to  his 
mother  during  the  latter's  stay  in  the  city.  The  doc- 
tor was  not  at  home  but  Mrs.  Huntley  was  delighted 
to  see  him  and  hovered  over  him  with  tea  and  sand- 
wiches and  cakes  as  a  fond  female  bird  hovers  over 
its  offspring  with  juicy  worms. 

When  Phil  came  to  revealing  his  future  plans  he 
did  so  a  little  warily  remembering  how  he  had  re- 
fused Justin  Huntley's  generous  offer.  But  Mrs. 
Huntley  seemed  genuinely  pleased. 

"  How  lovely  for  you !  Now  you  can  marry  that 
sweet  girl  and  everything  will  be  quite  all  right, 
will  it  not?" 

Phil  explained  that  everything  would  have  been 
quite  all  right  in  any  case  since  the  "  sweet  girl  "  had 
been  willing  to  come  to  him  if  he  had  not  been  able 
to  come  to  her. 


Warp  and  Woof  297 

"  Quite  as  it  should  be,"  Mrs.  Huntley  had  de- 
clared approvingly.  "  But  I  am  glad  it  has  come 
out  as  it  has  just  the  same.  Do  you  know,  Philip, 
I've  always  been  a  little  glad  you  didn't  take  Justin's 
offer,  dearly  as  I  should  have  loved  to  have  you 
with  us." 

Phil  hesitated  to  speak,  not  being  quite  certain  of 
his  hostess'  course  of  reasoning.  But  she  soon  en- 
lightened him. 

"  It  isn't  the  kind  of  work  for  a  young  man,"  she 
went  on.  "  It  is  too  disillusioning.  Don't  you 
think  so?  It  might  have  made  you  a  little  —  just 
a  little  —  cynical,  you  know.  Mightn't  it?  It  is 
hard  to  keep  your  faith  in  human  nature  when  you 
have  a  practice  like  Justin's."  She  paused  a  mo- 
ment then  continued  with  unusual  affirmatives. 
"  Justin  was  a  country  practitioner  in  a  little  town 
once.  He  took  his  father's  place.  Wonderful  old 
man  —  Justin's  father!  As  much  of  a  priest  as  a 
doctor  Justin  used  to  say.  He  lived  among  kind, 
simple,  hard-working  people  and  they  loved  him 
like  a  father.  You  should  have  seen  them  flocking 
in  from  the  farms  and  mountains  to  his  funeral. 
There  was  a  kind  of  personal  relation  you  don't  get 
in  cities." 

"  No,"  agreed  Phil.     "  Anyway,  you  don't  get  it 


298  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

in  Dr.  Huntley's  kind  of  practice.  I  get  some  few 
chunks  of  personality  at  the  clinic." 

"  Sometimes  I've  wished  Justin  had  stayed  in  the 
country  and  followed  his  father's  steps.  But  I  sup- 
pose it  had  to  be  this  way.  Justin  wasn't  satisfied 
until  he  had  worked  his  way  to  the  top,  though  some- 
times one  wonders  what  the  top  really  is,"  she  sighed. 
"  But,  anyway,  I  am  glad  your  father's  son  is  going 
to  have  a  different  outlook.  Justin  will  be  glad,  too. 
He  liked  your  refusal,  though  it  disappointed  him. 
He  understood." 

"  He  has  been  very  good  to  me,  and  you,  too," 
said  Phil,  warmly.  "  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  don't 
appreciate  his  kindness  and  was  ungrateful.  It  was 
a  big  thing  to  offer  a  young  man.  But  I  couldn't 
take  it.  I  had  to  hold  tight  for  my  kind  of  a 
job.  And,  thanks  to  luck  and  Doctor  Daly,  I  have 
it." 

Watching  the  fine,  earnest,  young  face,  with  its 
clear,  honest,  blue  eyes,  and  that  firm,  strong  chin, 
Mrs.  Huntley  thought  Phil  Lorrimer  owed  his  op- 
portunity chiefly  to  his  own  intrinsic  worth,  clear 
head,  and  fine  ideals,  which  was  true.  But  perhaps 
almost  more  was  he  beholden  to  a  big-souled  mis- 
sionary out  in  China  who  had  set  him  a  standard  of 
manhood  to  follow  and  a  gentle,  low-voiced  woman 


Warp  and  Woof  299 

who  lived  at  the  foot  of  Sylvia's  Hill  and  had  a  gift 
for  mothering. 

July  brought  Stephen  Kinnard  back  to  Greendale 
after  much  wandering,  from  Alaska  to  Mexico,  from 
Mexico  to  Quebec,  and  finally  to  Maryland.  He  had 
written  charming  desultory  letters  from  time  to  time 
to  Felicia  and  had  been  especially  rejoiced  over  her 
having  won  the  competition  as  he  had  prophesied. 
But  never  in  any  of  the  letters  had  he  pressed  again 
the  question  he  had  asked  in  September.  Among 
other  arts  Stephen  Kinnard  possessed  the  art  of  long 
patience  and  the  power  of  biding  his  time. 

Occasionally  jolly,  friendly,  brotherly  epistles  had 
come  for  Hope,  too.  At  first  Hope  had  blushed  de- 
lightfully over  them  and  read  and  reread  them  until 
she  fairly  knew  them  by  heart.  But  as  the  letters 
came  less  frequently  she  gradually  ceased  to  watch 
for  them.  Youth  needs  something  more  substan- 
tial than  a  chimera  to  feed  upon.  Moreover,  in 
June,  a  young  architect  had  come  to  Greendale  to 
build  Doctor  Tom's  hospital,  a  rather  clever  young 
man  with  some  Beaux  Arts  letters  after  his  name 
and  a  good  eye  for  a  pretty  girl.  Passing  up  the 
Hill  and  down  it  as  he  did  frequently  in  his  inter- 
views with  the  Doctor,  he  had  occasion  to  go  by  the 
Oriole  Inn  and  it  took  him  remarkably  little  time  to 


800  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

discover  that  it  was  agreeable  to  drop  in  afternoons 
for  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  quaint  dining-room  or  out 
under  the  trees  which  the  orioles  still  haunted.  Per- 
haps not  the  least  of  the  charms  of  the  place  was 
the  presence  of  the  fair-haired,  slender  lily  of  a  girl 
who  hovered  about  with  a  pleasing  anxiety  that  he 
be  well  served  and  often  took  the  task  of  ministra- 
tion upon  herself  in  her  zeal. 

Out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  Martha  watched  this 
too,  even  as  she  had  watched  Hope  and  Stephen  the 
previous  summer.  It  had  for  some  time  been  evi- 
dent to  Martha's  astute  vision  that  so  long  as  Hope 
remained  unclaimed  there  would  always  be  honey 
seekers  about  her  sweet  rose.  Much  as  she  dreaded 
to  have  Hope  marry  she  thought  she  would  prefer 
the  sad  certainty  of  such  a  contingency  to  the  eter- 
nal worrying  lest  Hope  be  somehow  hurt  and  her 
white  flower-likeness  be  made  to  droop  in  the  dust. 
The  young  architect  apparently  meant  business.  By 
July  he  was  spending  most  of  his  free  hours  in 
Hope's  society.  Martha  had  almost  settled  down  to 
acquiesce  in  the  idea  of  Hope's  surrender  when  she 
heard  that  Stephen  Kinnard  was  back  in  Greendale, 
news  which  brought  the  anxious  pucker  back  to  her 
forehead. 

But    she   need   not   have   worried.     Hope   was 


Warp  and  Woof  301 

pleased  to  see  Stephen  as  a  younger  sister  might  have 
been  glad  to  welcome  back  a  long  absent  brother. 
She  had  all  but  forgotten  she  had  ever  had  any 
dreams  about  him.  The  real  love  which  was  daily 
more  engrossing  made  the  pale  little  phantom  love 
so  insignificant  as  to  be  scarcely  a  thing  to  be  re- 
called. It  had  been  love  and  not  the  lover  that  Hope 
had  hungered  for  from  the  first. 

As  for  Stephen  himself,  Hope  had  never  dwelt 
except  upon  the  outer  margins  of  his  consciousness. 
He  had  admired  her  as  the  artist  in  him  always  paid 
tribute  to  beauty  wherever  he  found  it.  He  had  a 
fatal  gift  of  kindness  always  and  gave  careless  lar- 
gess easily  to  lovely  women  whenever  they  had  the 
luck  to  cross  his  path.  That  Hope  had  invested  him, 
even  temporarily,  with  the  glamour  of  her  sweet,  shy, 
little  dreams  he  had  no  manner  of  idea.  He  had, 
from  the  beginning,  paid  homage  to  a  higher  court. 

Shrewdly  perceiving  that  the  chief  obstacle  to  his 
suit  was  Sylvia,  Stephen  did  not  blunder  into  a 
premature  insistence.  Sylvia's  wedding  was  set  for 
early  September.  He  could  afford  to  wait  a  little, 
though  he  took  pains  to  make  himself  very  useful 
and  desirable  in  little  ways  to  the  household  on  the 
Hill  while  he  waited. 

During  the  summer  Sylvia  had  a  few  brief  letters 


302  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

from  Jack.  He  was  well,  intensely  thrilled  by  the 
experience  he  was  undergoing,  rejoicing  endlessly, 
apparently,  in  his  luck  at  having  at  last  found  a 
genuine  task  which  he  could  pursue  with  all  the  zest 
of  play.  Physical  courage  had  always  been  an  in- 
herent characteristic  with  him.  Danger  agreed  with 
him  as  he  had  said  to  Sylvia.  In  deeds  of  daring 
he  had  always  delighted,  simply,  with  no  fuss  about 
it.  Jack  was  never  spectacular.  It  was  merely 
that  being  a  good  gambler  he  liked  hazards.  This 
game  of  life  and  death  made  an  excellent  substitute 
for  the  game  of  love  in  which  he  had  gallantly  lost. 
In  fact  it  seemed  he  found  even  greater  satisfaction 
in  it.  At  any  rate,  he  was  in  it,  as  he  had  been  in 
love,  with  all  his  might  and  main  and  with  all  his 
heart. 

Sylvia's  engagement,  expected  as  it  had  been,  had 
appeared  to  disturb  little  less  than  the  surface  of 
his  exultant,  new  found  joy  of  service.  Perhaps 
the  larger  issues  swallowed  up  his  private  grief 
even  as  they  had  swallowed  Hilda  Jensen's.  Cer- 
tainly he  had  little  time  for  thought  or  brooding. 
Life  crowded  thick  around  him.  He  was  in  the 
same  unit  with  John  Armstrong  and  that  in  itself 
was  a  satisfaction,  for  the  two  had  long  been 
staunch  friends.  Hilda,  also,  he  saw  occasionally  as 


Warp  and  Woof  303 

she  was  working  in  the  hospital  at  Neuilly,  not  far 
from  the  front. 

It  was  Hilda  who  wrote  in  August  that  Jack  had 
been  wounded  and  was  in  the  hospital  in  her  care. 
The  injury,  though  painful,  was  not  serious  and 
Jack  made  light  of  it  as  well  he  might,  for  he  had 
been  "  cite  "  for  "  distinguished  service  under  fire  " 
and  won  the  Croix  de  Guerre. 

"  The  men  all  say  he  has  a  charmed  life,"  wrote 
Hilda.  "  The  Poilus  are  quite  superstitious  about 
him.  He  goes  anywhere,  everywhere  with  his  car, 
in  the  most  unheard  of,  impossible  places  with  the 
utmost  disregard  of  it  and  himself.  John  says  he 
never  saw  anything  like  him.  He  keeps  them  all, 
French  and  American  alike,  in  an  uproar  of  mirth, 
too.  Even  in  the  hospital  it  is  the  same.  He  tells 
his  funniest  stories  and  makes  his  absurdest  jokes 
and  has  everybody  in  a  good  humor  without  trying. 
He  is  the  sunniest  fellow  I  ever  knew.  You  can't 
down  him.  You  needn't  worry  about  him  as  far 
as  you  are  concerned,  Sylvia.  I  don't  mean  he 
doesn't  care.  He  does  care  tremendously.  He  de- 
serves the  Croix  de  Guerre,  in  love,  too.  He  has 
been  under  fire.  You  can  see  that.  But  what  I 
mean  is,  he  is  so  thoroughly  wholesome  and  happy- 
hearted  he  will  come  out  all  right.  He  can't  help 


304  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

it.  John  says  it  is  making  a  man  of  him  over  here, 
and  I  believe  it  is  true,  though  I  think  you  started 
that  process. 

"  But,  oh,  Sylvia,  it  is  dreadful!  If  ever  it  ends 
I  shall  fly  back  to  safe,  peaceful,  happy  America 
and  try  to  forget  all  the  agonies  I've  seen  and  lived 
over  here.  We  all  hope  America  will  manage  to 
keep  out  of  war,  but  it  seems  as  if  she  could  not 
long  do  so  with  safety  and  honor.  It  is  hard  to 
forget  the  Lusitania,  and  for  us  it  is  almost  harder 
to  forget  Belgium.  Americans  at  home  will  never 
fully  understand  Belgium.  For  us  it  has  been 
stamped  with  red  hot  irons  upon  our  minds  and 
memories.  We  cannot  forget." 

As  Sylvia  eagerly  read  this  letter  she  couldn't 
help  hoping  that  somehow  or  other  this  terrible  ex- 
perience Hilda  and  Jack  were  going  through  to- 
gether might,  in  time,  bring  them  still  nearer. 
Women  are  incorrigible  matchmakers  where  their 
old  lovers  are  concerned,  and  Jack  and  Hilda  had 
long  been  good  friends.  They  were  both  too  es- 
sentially sane  and  too  young  to  let  their  lives  be 
wrecked  by  the  hapless  experiences  with  which  they 
had  started  out.  If  only  they  might  find  consola- 
tion and  happiness  in  each  other  Sylvia  thought  she 
would  have  nothing  left  to  wish  for. 


Warp  and  Woof  305 

And  so  summer  days  came  and  went,  with  their 
joys  and  their  sorrows,  their  dreams  and  their  de- 
spairs, their  losses  and  their  gains,  woven  all  into 
the  common  web  of  life.  And  finally  again  came 
September. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   END   AND   THE   BEGINNING 

CLOUDLESS  September  afternoon!  The  same 
blue  space  of  sky  beyond  the  shining-leaved  mag- 
nolia; the  same  pink  and  white  riot  of  cosmos;  the 
same  dial  dedicating  itself  to  none  but  sunny  hours ! 
And  again  Barb  and  Suzanne  and  Sylvia  on  the 
porch  at  Arden  Hall.  Externally  everything  was 
much  as  it  had  been  a  twelve  month  ago.  But  the 
year  had  brought  its  changes  and  left  its  traces  as 
years  will.  As  the  shell's  growth  is  marked  by  its 
increasing  number  of  circles  so  spiritual  develop- 
ment stamps  its  impress  upon  human  faces  and  even 
more  on  human  souls.  Barb  and  Suzanne  and  Syl- 
via were  less  unchanged  than  the  outer  world.  All 
three  had  grown  in  the  grace  of  wisdom,  each  ac- 
cording to  her  way  and  measure. 

Barb  was  still  quiet  and  humble  of  heart,  but  the 
year  had  given  her  the  poise  which  comes  from  in- 
creasing self  dependence  and  given  more  from 
depths  and  widths  of  experience.  Barbara  was 

306 


The  End  and  the  Beginning        307 

learning  to  base  life  broad  on  the  roots  of  things  and 
faced  the  world  serenely  content  if  a  little  gravely, 
going  the  "  softlier  all  her  days  for  the  dream's 
sake  "  as  so  many  women  do. 

Suzanne  was,  on  the  surface,  the  least  changed. 
She  still  flashed  out  conversational  audacities  and 
delighted  in  "  taking  a  shot  at  the  idols  "  as  she 
put  it.  But  underneath  the  jewel-like  hardness  and 
brilliance  of  the  exterior  there  was  a  difference. 
Her  theories  of  life  were  not  so  polished  and  com- 
pact and  perfected.  She  had  undergone  more  than 
one  seismic  upheaval  of  emotion  during  the  year 
and  her  "  cock-sureness  "  was  shattered  if  not  an- 
nihilated. But  the  greatest  difference  lay  in  her 
deepened  power  of  human  sympathy  and  under- 
standing. The  success  of  "  Melissa  on  the  Road  " 
had  not  been  mere  accident  but  a  logical  outgrowth 
of  its  author's  surer  insight  into  life,  and  the  play 
was  an  even  more  certain  indication  that  Suzanne 
in  finding  herself  had  found  something  universal  at 
the  same  time. 

As  for  Sylvia  — but  let  Sylvia  speak  for  herself. 
Suzanne,  lolling  as  before  in  Sylvia's  hammock, 
again  pronounced  judgment. 

"  I  never  knew  a  person  for  whom  the  whole 
universe  seemed  to  be  working  the  way  it  does  for 


308  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

you,  Sylvia  Arden.  Now,  if  I  had  wanted  to  live 
in  a  certain  place  Roger  would  have  been  called  to 
Kamchatka  or  Kalamazoo  or  some  other  God  for- 
gotten spot.  But  just  because  you  had  your  heart 
set  on  living  at  Arden  Hall  the  fates  come  gallop- 
ing up  to  present  Phil  a  choice  professional  opening 
on  a  charger." 

"  Do  you  know  whether  a  charger  is  a  horse  or  a 
platter?"  laughed  Sylvia.  "I  should  never  know 
from  your  phrasing." 

"  It  is  both,  of  course.  Don't  criticize  my  diction. 
Diction  is  my  business.  And  don't  crab.  Honest, 
Sylvia,  don't  you  think  your  luck  is  altogether  out  of 
proportion  to  your  deserts  ?  " 

"  '  In  the  course  of  justice  which  of  us  should 
see  salvation  ? '  '  quoted  Sylvia.  "  Oh,  I  know, 
Suzanne.  It  is  almost  too  good  to  be  true  that  Phil 
can  find  the  right  kind  of  work  in  Greendale  and  we 
can  live  here  at  Arden  Hall.  But  you  are  mis- 
taken about  my  having  set  my  heart  on  living  here. 
I  love  it  better  than  any  place  on  earth  but  I  would 
have  gone  anywhere  with  Phil.  Even  the  Hall 
wanes  in  comparison  with  him."  And  Sylvia 
blushed  charmingly  as  she  made  the  admission. 

"Of  course  you  think  so.  Quite  the  proper 
sentiment  to  express  twenty- four  hours  before  your 


The  End  and  the  Beginning        309 

wedding.  May  the  Lord  give  me  grace  to  feel  the 
same  next  December  when  I  follow  your  lead  to  the 
altar.  But,  Sylvia,  you  don't  really  know  what 
you  are  talking  about.  I  can't  imagine  you  in  a 
little  apartment.  You're  too  —  spacious." 

Sylvia  smiled. 

"  Oh,  I  believe  I  could  have  adjusted  my  spacious- 
ness if  necessary.  But  I'm  rather  glad  I  don't  have 
to.  I'd  rather  —  spread." 

"  You  will  spread,  too,"  put  in  Barb.  "  You  and 
Phil  will  have  a  wonderful  opportunity  to  really  live 
here,  more  than  you  could  ever  have  done  in  the 
city." 

"  I  hope  so."  Sylvia's  eyes  were  thoughtful  as 
she  looked  out  across  the  lawn,  past  the  magnolia  to 
the  blue  sky,  just  as  she  had  a  year  ago.  She 
looked  as  if  she  saw  visions.  Perhaps  she  did. 
The  "  home  trust "  which  she  and  Felicia  had 
formed  years  ago  was  still  an  integral  part  of  her 
scheme  of  things.  She  meant  her  home  to  be  a 
home  in  the  truest  sense,  not  just  a  house  beneath 
whose  roof  she  could  shelter  herself  and  her  loved 
ones.  She  wanted  her  doors  to  stand  open  wide  to 
the  world  —  especially  the  lonely  people.  "  The 
lonely  people  "  were  always  very  close  to  Sylvia's 
heart  perhaps  because  her  own  lonely  girlhood  had 


310        .      Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

given  her  the  clew  to  the  yearning  that  nearly  all 
the  world  knows  at  times. 

"  You  are  going  to  keep  on  being  viciously  con- 
tented," accused  Suzanne. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Sylvia  again.  "  I  feel  that  way 
at  present,  anyway.  I  am  afraid  I'll  never  do  any- 
thing very  big,  Suzanne.  You  are  Barb  are  go- 
ing to  leave  me  way  behind,  I  know.  I  haven't  any 
special  ambition  except  to  be  happy  myself  and  to 
make  other  people  within  my  range  happy,  too." 

"  You  are  a  genius  at  that.  Remember  what  Mr. 
Kinnard  said.  Don't  let  Suzanne  tease  you,  Sylvia. 
You  have  the  secret  of  living.  If  all  the  people  in 
the  world  wanted  to  be  happy  themselves  and  tried 
to  see  that  other  people  near  them  were  happy, 
why—" 

"  The  millennium  would  have  come,"  finished 
Suzanne.  "  You  are  blooming  sentimentalists  both 
of  you,  though  I  don't  deny  there  is  a  little  solid 
sense  behind  your  sentiment.  Anyway,  I  have  a 
sneaking  notion  I  shall  have  a  sort  of  satisfaction 
knowing  that  down  here  on  your  Hill  things 
are  going  to  be  a  little  more  the  way  they  ought 
to  be  than  is  customary  in  this  cranky  old 
world." 

"Why,    Suzanne!     That    is    just    what    I    was 


The  End  and  the  Beginning        311 

thinking,"  cried  Barb.  "  I  see  so  much  sin  and 
sordidness  and  misery  and  things  so  snarled  and 
twisted  that  it  seems  as  if  they  never  would  smooth 
out.  I'm  going  to  see  even  more  this  year  if  I 
go  in  for  the  probation  work.  And  it  is  wonderful 
to  me  to  be  able  to  think  that  it  is  all  clean  and  sweet 
and  happy  and  kind  in  Sylvia's  world.  It  is  kind- 
ness somehow  that  is  important.  If  we  would  all 
be  kind  the  way  Christ  taught  us  there  wouldn't 
be  any  war  and  hate  and  competition  and  oppres- 
sion. We'd  all  be  just  brothers  and  sisters." 

"  Maybe  that  is  what  we  are  growing  into,"  said 
Sylvia  soberly.  "  Thank  you,  Barb.  I  like  that 

—  what  you  said  just  now.     Remember,  if  you  want 
to  send  anybody  down  to  my  —  our  garden  —     It  is 
Phil's,  too  —  we  shall  be  glad  to  take  her  —  or  him 

—  in.     We  want  to  help." 

"  We  want  to  help."  That  is  the  keynote  of  the 
new  democracy.  And  Barb  and  Suzanne  and  Syl- 
via, each  in  her  own  way,  had  enlisted  in  the  shin- 
ing army  which  is  none  other  than  the  army  of 
love. 

And  indoors,  while  the  three  girls  were  thus 
philosophizing  about  the  universe  at  large,  Felicia 
and  Stephen  had  suddenly  concentrated  upon  them- 
selves. 


312  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

"  Felicia,"  Stephen  was  saying,  "  I  have  waited 
very  patiently.  Haven't  you  a  different  answer  for 
me  this  time?  I  am  not  going  to  pretend  I  shall 
go  away  broken-hearted  if  it  is  no.  My  heart  is  a 
little  too  old  to  break,  but  if  you  could  make  it  yes 
it  will  make  all  the  difference  in  the  world. 
Couldn't  you  say  it,  dear?  Sylvia  won't  need  you 
after  to-morrow.  And  you  know  the  kiddies  won't 
be  the  losers.  We'll  see  to  that.  Those  reasons  of 
yours  aren't  operative  any  more,  you  know." 

"  But  there  is  still  Sydney,"  she  reminded  him 
gravely,  her  face  averted. 

"  There  is,"  he  admitted.  "  Ah,  but,  Felicia,  you 
can't  live  all  your  days  on  a  memory  —  even  so  vital 
a  one.  I  don't  expect  to  take  Syd's  place.  I  don't 
even  want  to.  But,  Felicia,  look  at  me.  Haven't 
I  somewhere  a  place  all  my  own  in  your  heart  ?  " 

And  then  Felicia  lifted  her  eyes,  still  forget-me- 
not  blue  like  Marianna's. 

"  Yes,  Stephen,  I  believe  you  have  —  a  big  place. 
If  you  want  me  as  I  am,  the  best  of  me  gone,  the 
rest  is  all  yours." 

Night  and  stillness  of  night  on  Arden  Hall  and 
Sylvia's  garden !  Suddenly  out  of  the  darkness  Syl- 
via stole  down  the  broad  staircase,  candle  in  hand, 


The  End  and  the  Beginning        313 

like  a  vestal  virgin,  in  her  white  silk  robe,  her  dark 
hair  unbound,  lying  loose  upon  her  shoulders. 

On  the  wall,  near  the  foot  of  the  stairs  hung  two 
portraits ;  one,  of  a  dark-eyed  young  man,  the  other 
a  lovely  young  girl,  looking  out  with  wistful,  won- 
dering gaze  upon  the  world. 

Straight  to  the  portraits  went  Sylvia,  holding  her 
candle  high.  For  a  moment  she  stood  there  with 
uplifted  face  and  rapt  gaze,  trying  to  speak  to  these 
two,  to  bespeak  their  blessing  this  night  on  the 
daughter  who  was  to  follow  in  their  footsteps  to- 
morrow in  giving  herself  in  marriage  to  the  mate 
she  loved. 

"  If  only  you  were  here,"  she  sighed.  "  I  do 
want  you  so,  Father!  Mother!  Please  try  to 
know  and  be  glad  I  am  so  happy.  Please  be  glad. 
I  want  you  to  be  glad." 

In  the  flickering  light  of  the  uplifted  candle  it 
seemed  to  Sylvia  as  if  her  father's  dark  eyes  smiled 
down  into  hers  as  if  he  understood  and  was  glad 
as  she  desired. 

"The  truest  and  the  kindest,"  she  whispered. 
"  That  was  what  Doctor  Tom  said,  and  I  know  you 
must  have  been.  Phil  is  like  that,  too,  Father.  I'm 
glad  you  know.  Good  night." 

Then  she  turned  to  the  fair  girl  whom  it  had 


314  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

always  been  a  little  hard  to  think  of  as  a  mother, 
she  was  so  tiny  and  sweet  and  girlish  herself  and 
her  eyes  looked  so  incredibly  young  and  innocent. 

"Little  Mother!"  crooned  Sylvia.  "Little,  lit- 
tle Mother!  I  wonder  if  you  were  afraid  at  all. 
Did  you  ever  feel  like  running  away  even  from  him  ? 
This  marrying  is  such  a  big,  solemn  business. 
Didn't  you  feel  a  teeny  little  bit  scared  about  it 
all?  It  isn't  that  you  are  afraid  of  him.  It  is 
rather  yourself  you  don't  trust,  as  if  you  weren't 
quite  tall  enough  to  reach  up  to  marriage.  Mar- 
riage is  so  high,  so  dreadfully  high.  But  it  is  all 
right,  isn't  it,  little  Mother?  You  just  have  to  trust 
love,  don't  you  ?  Good  night,  little  Mother.  Please 
love  me  up  there  where  you  are." 

This  rite  over,  Sylvia  turned  to  go  back  upstairs. 
But  the  moonlight  fell  in  bright  patines  across  the 
floor  from  the  latticed  windows,  beside  the  front 
door,  and  Sylvia  had  never  been  able  to  resist  moon- 
light. Hastily  she  set  down  her  candle  and  snatched 
up  a  black  velvet  cloak  from  the  rack  and  throwing 
it  about  her  shoulders,  covering  her  thin  silken  drap- 
eries, she  unbolted  the  rear  door  which  led  out  into 
the  garden  and  ran  down  the  steps  into  the  en- 
chanted world  outside. 

Even  as  she  reached  the  path  she  uttered  a  half 


The  End  and  the  Beginning        315 

startled  exclamation.  A  tall  form  was  pacing  up 
and  down  under  the  willow-trees,  silhouetted  against 
the  whiteness  of  the  garden  space.  She  did  not  re- 
treat however  but  stood  motionless  as  a  statue  with 
the  moonlight  full  upon  her.  In  a  moment  the 
silhouetted  figure  turned  and  came  swiftly  toward 
her. 

"Sylvia!" 

"  Phil ! " 

For  a  second  she  was  swept  into  Phil's  arms,  his 
kiss  on  her  lips.  Then  they  stood  apart,  looking 
at  each  other  as  if  all  at  once  they  had  discovered 
some  new,  sacred  thing  which  all  their  love  up  to 
now  had  not  taught  them. 

"  Phil,  I'm  glad  —  glad  it  is  you,"  breathed  Syl- 
via. "  Glad  I'm  going  to  be  yours." 

"  Forever  and  ever,  amen,"  said  Phil  Lorrimer,  as 
solemnly  as  if  he  were  pronouncing  his  own  wedding 
service. 

The  actual  ceremony  took  place  the  next  day  in 
the  gray  stone  Gothic  church  where  Sylvia's  father 
and  mother  had  been  made  man  and  wife.  But  to 
Sylvia,  and  perhaps  to  Phil,  too,  it  always  seemed  as 
if  the  real  wedding  had  been  the  night  before  in  the 
white  moonlight  of  Sylvia's  own  garden.  There 
it  was  at  least  that  Sylvia  lost  forever  her  fear  of 


316  Sylvia  Arden  Decides 

not  being  able  to  reach  up  to  the  marriage  however 
high  it  was.  Love,  she  knew,  would  show  her  the 
way. 


THE   END 


WHAT  ALLAH  WILLS 

(By  Irtoin  L.   Qordon 
Author  of  "  The  Log  of  The  Ark  " 


Illustrated,  net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 


Take  Morocco  for  a  background  —  that  quaint  and 
mysterious  land  of  mosques  and  minarets,  where  the 
muezzin  still  calls  to  prayer  at  sundown  the  faithful. 

Imagine   a   story   written   with  power   and   intensity 
and  the  thrill  of  adventure  in  the  midst  of  fanatical 
Moslems.     Add  to  this  a  wealthy  young  medical  stu- 
dent, a   red-blooded  American,  who  gives  up  his  life 
to  helping  the  lepers  of  Arzilla,  and  the  presence  of  a 
beautiful  American  girl  who,  despite  her  love  for  the 
hero,   is   induced   to   take   up   the   Mohammedan    faith,  if 
and  you  have  some  idea  of  what  this  remarkable  story  g 
presents. 

WHAT  ALLAH  WILLS  is  a  big  story  of  love  and  I 
adventure.     Mr.  Gordon  is  the  author  of  two  notable  | 
non-fiction  successes,  but  he  scores  heavily  in  this,  his 
first  work  of  fiction. 


UNDER  THE  WITCHES'  MOON 


Qallizier 

Author  of  "  The  Sorceress  of  Rome"  "  The  Court  of  j* 
Lucifer,"  "  The  Hill  of  Venus,"  etc. 

Illustrated    by    The   Kinneys,   cloth   izmo,   net,   $1.50;  j 
carriage  paid,  $1.65 

This  romantic  tale  of  tenth-century  Rome  concerns 
itself  with  the  fortunes  and  adventures  of  Tristan  of 
Avalon  while  in  the  Eternal  City  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
do  penance  for  his  love  of  Hellayne,  the  wife  of  his 
liege  lord,  Count  Roger  de  Laval. 

Tristan's  meeting  with  the  Queen  Courtesan  of  the 
Aventine;  her  infatuation  for  the  pilgrim;  Tristan's 
rounds  of  obediences,  cut  short  by  his  appointment  as 
Captain  of  Sant'  Angelo  by  Alberic,  Senator  of  Rome; 
the  intrigues  of  Basil,  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  who 
aspires  to  the  dominion  of  Rome  and  the  love  of 
Theodora ;  the  trials  of  Hellayne,  who  alternately  falls 
into  the  power  of  Basil  and  Theodora ;  the  scene  be- 
tween the  Grand  Chamberlain  and  Bessarion  in  the 
ruins  of  the  Coliseum;  the  great  feud  between  Roxana 
and  Theodora  and  the  final  overthrow  of  the  latter's 
regime  constitute  some  of  the  dramatic  episodes  of  the 
romance. 

"This  new  book  adds  greater  weight  to  the  claim 
that  Mr.   Gallizier  is  the  greatest  writer  of  historical 
novels  in  America  today."  —  Cincinnati  Times-Star. 
"  In    many    respects    we    consider    Mr.    Gallizier    the 

8  most  versatile   and   interesting  writer   of  the   day."  — 

g  Saxby's  Magazine. 


A  third  CHEERFUL  BOOK 

Trade 


SYLVIA  ARDEN  DECIDES 


A  Sequel  to  "  Sylvia's  Experiment :   The  Cheerful  Book  " 

Trade  '      Mark 

and  "Sylvia  of  the  Hill  Top" 


Illustrated,  decorative  jacket,  net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  \ 
$1.50 

• 

In  the  original  CHEERFUL  BOOK,  with  its  rippling 
play  of  incident,  Sylvia  proved  herself  a  bringer  of 
tidings  of  great  joy  to  many  people.  In  the  second 
book  devoted  to  her  adventures,  she  was  a  charming 
heroine  —  urbane,  resourceful  and  vivacious  —  with  an 
added  shade  of  picturesqueness  due  to  her  environ- 
ment. In  this  third  story  Sylvia  is  a  little  older  grown, 
deep  in  the  problem  of  just-out-of-college  adjustment 
to  the  conditions  of  the  "wide,  wide  world,"  and  in  the 
process  of  learning,  as  she  puts  it,  "to  live  as  deep  and 
quick  as  I  can."  The  scene  of  the  new  story  is  laid 
partly  at  Arden  Hall  and  partly  in  New  York  and,  in 
her  sincere  effort  to  find  herself,  Sylvia  finds  love  in 
real  fairy  tale  fashion. 

"There  is  a  world  of  human  nature,  and  neighbor- 
hood contentment  and  quaint,  quiet  humcr  in  Mar- 
garet R.  Piper's  books  of  good  cheer.  Her  tales  are 
well  proportioned  and  subtly  strong  in  their  literary 
aspects  and  quality."  —  North  American,  Philadelphia. 


A  PLACE  IN  THE  SUN 


JXCrs.  Henry 


Author   of  "  The   Career  of  Dr.    Weaver,"  "  The  Rose 
of  Roses,"  etc. 


12mo,  cloth,  illustrated  by  Win.  Van  Dresser,  net,  $1.35; 
carriage  paid,  $1J)0 


Gunda  Karoli  is  a  very  much  alive  young  person  with 
a  zest  for  life  and  locking-forward  philosophy  which 
helps  her  through  every  trial.  She  is  sustained  in  her 
struggles  against  the  disadvantage  of  her  birth  by  a 
burning  faith  in  the  great  American  ideal  —  that  here 
in  the  United  States  every  one  has  a  chance  to  win  for 
himself  a  place  in  the  sun. 

Gunda  takes  for  her  gospel  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, only  to  find  that,  although  this  democratic 
doctrine  is  embodied  in  the  constitution  of  the  country, 
it  does  not  manifest  itself  outwardly  in  its  social  life. 
Nevertheless,  she  succeeds  in  mounting  step  by  step  in 
the  social  scale,  from  the  time  she  first  appears  at  Sky- 
land  on  the  Knobs  as  a  near-governess,  to  her  brief 
season  in  the  metropolis  as  a  danseuse. 

How  she  wins  the  interest  of  Justin  Arnold,  the  fas- 
tidious descendant  of  a  fine  old  family,  and  brings  into 
his  self-centered  existence  a  new  life  and  fresh  charm, 
provides  a  double  interest  to  the  plot. 


VIRGINIA  OF  ELK  CREEK 
VALLEY 

£llen  Chase 


l*mo,    eloth    decorative,    illustrated    by    R.    Farrinyton   j 
Elwell,  net,  flJS;  tarriage  paid, 


A  sequel  to  last  year's  success,  THE  GIRL  FROM 
THE  BIG  HORN  COUNTRY  (sixth  printing).  This 
new  story  is  more  western  in  flavor  than  the  first  book 
— -since  practically  all  of  the  action  occurs  back  in 
the  Big  Horn  country,  at  Virginia's  home,  to  which 
she  invites  her  eastern  friends  for  a  summer  vacation. 
The  vacation  in  the  West  proves  "  the  best  ever "  for 
the  Easterners,  and  in  recounting  their  pleasures  they 
tell  of  the  hundreds  of  miles  of  horseback  riding,  how 
they  climbed  mountains,  trapped  a  bear,  shot  gophers, 
fished,  camped,  homesteaded,  and  of  the  delightful  hospi- 
tality of  Virginia  and  her  friends. 

"  The  story  is  full  of  life  and  movement  and  presents    jj 
a  variety  of  interesting  characters."  —  8t.  Paul  Despatch. 

"  This  is  most  gladsome  reading  to  all  who  love  health-     i 
fulness  of  mind,  heart  and  body,"  —  Boston  Ideas. 


Selections  from 

The  Page  Company's 

List  of  Fiction 

WORKS  OF 

ELEANOR  H.  PORTER 

POLLYANNA:  The  GLAD  Book     (360,000) 

Trade  Mark  Trade""    "Mark 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  Stockton  Mulford. 

Net,  $1.35;  carnage  paid,  $1.50 

Mr.  Leigh  Mitchell  Hodges,  The  Optimist,  in  an  editorial  for 
the  Philadelphia  North  American,  says:  "And  when,  after  Polly- 
anna  has  gone  away,  you  get  her  letter  saying  she  is  going  to 
take  'eight  steps'  to-morrow  —  well,  I  don't  know  just  what 
you  may  do,  but  I  know  of  one  person  who  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands  and  shook  with  the  gladdest  sort  of  sadness  and 
got  down  on  his  knees  and  thanked  the  Giver  of  all  gladness 
for  Pollyanna." 

POLLYANNA  GROWS  UP:  The  Second  GLAD  Book 

Trade  Mark  (180,000)  Trade —   — Mark 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  H.  Weston  Taylor. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 

When  the  story  of  POLLYANNA  told  in  The  Glad  Book  was 
ended  a  great  cry  of  regret  for  the  vanishing  "Glad  Girl"  went 
up  all  over  the  country  —  and  other  countries,  too.  Now 
POLLYANNA  appears  again,  just  as  sweet  and  joyous-hearted, 
more  grown  up  and  more  lovable. 

"Take  away  frowns!  Put  down  the  worries!  Stop  fidgeting 
and  disagreeing  and  grumbling!  Cheer  up,  everybody!  POLLY- 
ANNA  has  come  back!" — Christian  Herald. 


The  GLAD  Book  Calendar 
Trade""    """Mark 

THE  POLLYANNA  CALENDAR 

Trade  Mark 

(This  calendar  is  issued  annually;  the  calendar  for  the  n«w 
year  being  ready  about  Sept.  1st  of  the  preceding  year.  Note: 
m  ordering  please  specify  what  year  you  desire.) 

Decorated  and  printed  in  colors.  Net,  $1.50;  carriage  pauf,$l. 65 

"There  is  a  message  of  cheer  on  every  page.  *°d  the  calen- 
dar is  beautifully  illustrated." —  Kansas  City  Star. 


THE  PAGE  COMPANY'S 


WORKS  OF  ELEANOR  H.  PORTER  (Continued) 

MISS  BILLY  (18th  printing) 

Cloth   decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a 

painting  by  G.  Tyng       .        .       Net,  $1.35;  carnage  paid,  $1.50 

"There    is    something    altogether    fascinating    about    'Miss 

Billy,'  some  inexplicable  feminine  characteristic  that  seems  to 

demand  the  individual  attention  of  the  reader  from  the  moment 

we  open  the  book  until  we  reluctantly  turn  the  last  page." — 

Boston  Transcript. 

MISS  BILLY'S   DECISION  (llth  printing) 

Cloth  decorative,   with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a 
painting  by  Henry  W.  Moore. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 
"The  story  is  written  in  bright,  clever  style  and  has  plenty 

of  action  and  humor.     Miss  Billy  is  nice  to  know  and  so  are 

her  friends." — New  Haven  Times  Leader. 

MISS  BILLY  —  MARRIED  (8th  printing) 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a 

painting  by  W.  Haskell  Coffin. 

Net,  $1.35;  carnage  paid,  $1.50 

"Although  Pollyanna  is  the  only  copyrighted  glad  girl,  Miss 
Billy  is  Just  as  glad  as  the  younger  figure  and  radiates  just 
as  much*  gladness.  She  disseminates  joy  so  naturally  that  we 
wonder  why  all  girls  are  not  like  her." — Boston  Transcript. 

SIX  STAR  RANCH  (19th  Printing) 

Cloth  decorative,  12mo,  illustrated  by  R.  Farrington  El  well. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 

"  'Six  Star  Ranch'  bears  all  the  charm  of  the  author's  genius 
and  is  about  a  little  girl  down  in  Texas  who  practices  the  Tolly- 
anna  Philosophy'  with  irresistible  success.  The  book  is  one  of 
the  kindliest  things,  if  not  the  best,  that  the  author  of  the  Polly- 
anna books  has  done.  It  is  a  welcome  addition  to  the  fast- 
growing  family  of  Glad  Books." — Howard  Russell  Bangs  in  the 
Boston  Post. 

CROSS   CURRENTS 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated.    Net,_  $1.00;  carriage  paid,  $1.15 
"To  one  who  enjoys  a  story  of  life  as  it  is  to-day,  with  its 

sorrows  as  well  as  its  triumphs,  this  volume  is  sure  to  appeal." 

—  Book  News  Monthly. 

THE  TURN   OF  THE  TIDE 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated.     Net,  $1.25;  carriage  paid,  $1.40 
"A  very  beautiful  book  showing  the  influence  that  went  to 
the  developing  of  the  life  of  a  dear  little  girl  into  a  true  and 
good  woman." —  Herald  and  Presbyter,  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

L.  M.  MONTGOMERY 

THE  FOUR  ANNE  BOOKS 

ANNE   OF  GREEN   GABLES  (40th  printing) 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  M.  A.  and  W.  A.  J.  Glaus. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 
"In  'Anne  of  Green  Gables'  you  will  find  the  dearest  and 

most  moving  and  delightful  child  since  the  immortal  Alice." 

—  Mark  Twain  in  a  letter  to  Francis  Wilson. 

ANNE  OF  AVONLEA  (24th  printing) 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  George  Gibbs. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 

"A  book  to  lift  the  spirit  and  send  the  pessimist  into  bank- 
ruptcy!"—  Meredith  Nicholson. 

CHRONICLES  OF  AVONLEA  (6th  printing) 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  George  Gibbs. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 

"A  story  of  decidedly  -jnusual  conception  and  interest." — 
Baltimore  Sun. 

ANNE   OF  THE  ISLAND  (10th  printing) 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a 
painting  by  H.  Weston  Taylor. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 
"It  has  been  well  worth  while  to  watch  the  growing  up  of 

Anne,  and  the  privilege  of  being  on  intimate  terms  with  her 

throughout  the  process  has  been  properly  valued." — New  York 

Herald.  

THE  STORY  GIRL  (9th  printing) 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  George  Gibbs. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 

"A  book  that  holds  one's  interest  and  keeps  a  kindly  smile 
upon  one's  lips  and  in  one's  heart." —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

KILMENY  OF  THE  ORCHARD  (10th  printing) 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  George  Gibbs. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 

"A  story  born  in  the  heart  of  Arcadia  and  brimful  of  the 
sweet  life  of  the  primitive  environment."-  -  Boston  Heral  -. 

THE  GOLDEN  ROAD  (5th  printing) 
.  Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  George  Gibbs. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.M 

"It  is  a  simple,  tender  tale,  touched  to  higher  notes,  now 
and  then,  by  delicate  hints  of  romance,  tragedy  aad  pathee.' 
—  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


THE  PAGE  COMPANY'S 


NOVELS  BY 

ISLA  MAY  MULLINS 

THE  BLOSSOM   SHOP:  A  Story  of  the  South 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  John  Goss. 

Net,  $1.25;  carnage  paid,  $1.40 

"Frankly  and  wholly  romance  is  this  book,  and  lovable  —  as 
is  a  fairy  tale  properly  told.  And  the  book's  author  has  a  style 
that's  all  her  own,  that  strikes  one  as  praiseworthily  original 
throughout." —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

ANNE  OF  THE  BLOSSOM  SHOP:  Or, The  Growing 

Up  of  Anne  Carter 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a 
painting  by  Z.  P.  Nikolaki. 

Net,  $1.25;  carriage  paid,  $1.40 

"A  charming  portrayal  of  the  attractive  life  of  the  South, 
refreshing  as  a  breeze  that  blows  through  a  pine  forest." — 
Albany  Times-Union. 

ANNE'S  WEDDING 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a 
painting  by  Gene  Pressler.     Net,  $1.25;  carriage  paid,  $1.40 
"The  story  is  most  beautifully  told.     It  brings  in  most  charm- 
ing people,  and  presents  a  picture  of  home  life  that  is  most 
appealing  in  love  and  affection.     It  is  a  delightful  tale,  highly 
refreshing  and  most  entertaining." —  Every  Evening,  Wilmington, 
Del. 

NOVELS  BY 

DAISY  RHODES  CAMPBELL 

THE  FIDDLING   GIRL 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated.     Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 
"A  thoroughly  enjoyable  tale,  written  in  a  delightful  vein  of 
sympathetic  comprehension." —  Boston  Herald. 

THE  PROVING   OF  VIRGINIA 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated.     Net,  $1.35;  carnage  paid,  $1.50 

"A  book  which  contributes  so  much  of  freshness,  enthusiasm, 

and  healthy  life  to  offset  the  usual  offerings  of  modern  fiction, 

deserves  all  the  praise  which  can  be  showered  upon  it." — 

Kindergarten  Review. 

THE  VIOLIN  LADY 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated.     Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 
"The  author's  style  remains  simple  and  direct,  as  in  her  pre- 
ceding books,  and  her  frank  affection  for  her  attractive  heroine 
will  be  shared  by  many  others." —  Boston  Transcript. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


NOVELS  BY 
OTHER  AUTHORS 

THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  BIG  HORN  COUNTRY 

By  MARY  ELLEN  CHASE. 

Cloth  12mo,  illustrated  by  R.  Farrington  Elwell. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 

"  'The  Girl  from  the  Big  Horn  Country'  tells  how  Virginia 
Hunter,  a  bright,  breezy,  frank-hearted  'girl  of  the  Golden  West' 
comes  out  of  the  Big  Horn  country  of  Wyoming  to  the  old  Bay 
State.  Then  things  begin,  when  Virginia  —  who  feels  the 
joyous,  exhilarating  call  of  the  Big  Horn  wilderness  and  the 
outdoor  life  —  attempts  to  become  acclimated  and  adopt  good 
old  New  England  'ways.'  " —  Critic. 

•    "The  story  is  full  of  life  and  movement  and  presents  a  variety 
of  interesting  characters." —  St.  Paid  Despatch. 

THE  ROAD   TO   LE   REVE 

By  BREWER  CORCORAN. 

Cloth  decorative,  12mo,  illustrated  by  H.  Weston  Taylor. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 

"This  is,  first  of  all,  a  charming  romance,  distinguished  by  a 
fine  sentiment  of  loyalty  to  an  ideal,  by  physical  courage,  in- 
domitable resolution  to  carry  to  success  an  altruistic  undertak- 
ing, a  splendid  woman's  devotion,  and  by  a  vein  of  spontaneous 
sparkling  humor  that  offsets  its  more  serious  phases." —  Spring- 
field Republican. 

"A  romance  of  vivid  interest,  a  love  story  full  of  youth,  the 
great  outdoors  and  adventures  that  thrill.  The  dialogue  is 
unusually  clever,  the  characters  delightfully  real,  the  plot  one 
that  holds  the  reader's  interest  to  the  end." — New  York  Sun. 

MAN   PROPOSES;   Or,   The   Romance    of   John 

Alden  Shaw. 

By  ELIOT  ROBINSON. 

Cloth  decorative,  12mo,  illustrated  by  William  Van  Dresser. 

Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 

"Readers  will  find  not  only  an  unusually  interesting  story 
but  one  of  the  most  complicated  romances  ever  dreamed  of. 
Among  other  things  the  story  gives  a  splendid  and  realistic 
picture  of  high  social  life  in  Newport,  where  many  of  the  inci- 
dents of  the  plot  are  staged  in  the  major  part  of  the  book." — 
The  Bookman. 

"The  author  has  given  the  public  a  novel  decidedly  off  the 
ordinary.  The  book  is  more  than  a  tale  for  an  idle  hour  —  it 
stimulates  the  mind,  induces  thought  and  at  the  same  time 
beguiles  the  reader  and  fascinates  him  by  the  peculiar  interest 
of  the  itory."—  Gateway  Gazette. 


THE  PAGE  COMPANY'S 


NOVELS  BY 

MRS.  HENRY  BACKUS 

THE  CAREER  OF  DOCTOR  WEAVER 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated  by  William  Van  Dresser. 

Net,  $1.35;  carnage  paid,  $1.50 

"High  craftsmanship  is  the  leading  characteristic  of  this 
novel,  which,  like  all  good  novels,  is  a  love  story  abounding 
in  real  palpitant  human  interest.  The  most  startling  feature 
of  the  story  is  the  way  its  author  has  torn  aside  the  curtain 
and  revealed  certain  phases  of  the  relation  between  the  medical 
profession  and  society." — Dr.  Charles  Reed  in  the  Lancet  Clinic. 

THE  ROSE   OF  ROSES 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color. 

Net,  $1.35;  carnage  paid,  $1.50 

The  author  has  achieved  a  thing  unusual  in  developing  a 
love  story  which  adheres  to  conventions  under  unconventional 
circumstances. 

"Mrs.  Backus'  novel  is  distinguished  in  the  first  place  for 
its  workmanship." —  Buffalo  Evening  News, 

NOVELS  BY 

MARGARET  R.  PIPER 
SYLVIA'S  EXPERIMENT:  The  Cheerful  Book 

Trade —  — Mark 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a 
painting  by  Z.  P.  Nikolaki.     Net,  $1.35;  carnage  paid,  $1.50 
"An  atmosphere  of  good  spirits  pervades  the  book;  the  hu- 
mor that  now  and  then  flashes  across  the  page  is  entirely  natural, 
and  the  characters  are  well  individualized." —  Boston  Post. 

SYLVIA  OF  THE  HILL  TOP:  The  Second  Cheerful 

Book  Trade  Mark 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color,  from  a 
painting  by  Gene  Pressler.     Net,  $1.35;  carnage  paid,  $1.50 
''There  is  a  world  of  human  nature  and  neighborhood  content- 
ment and  quaint  quiet  humor  in  Margaret  R.  Piper's  second 
book  of  good  cheer." —  Philadelphia  North  American. 

MISS   MADELYN   MACK,  DETECTIVE 

By  HUGH  C.  WEIR. 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated.    Net,  $1.35;  carriage  paid,  $1.50 

"Clever  in  plot  and  effective  hi  style,  the  author  has  seized 

on  some  of  the  most  sensational  features  of  modern  life,  and 

the  result  is  a  detective  novel  that  gets  away  from  the  beatefc 

track  of  mystery  stories." —  New  York  Sun. 


LIST   OF  FICTION 


WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 
HAUNTERS  OF  THE  SILENCES 

Cloth  decorative,  with  many  drawings  by  Charles  Livings  USB 
Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color    ....    $2.00 
The  stories  in  Mr.  Roberts's  new  collection  are  the  strongest 
and  best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely 
met  with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent  "In  the  Silences," 
where  they  are  the  supreme  rulers. 

"As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  envi- 
able place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imag- 
inative and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writerSi"— Brooklyn  Eagle. 

RED  FOX 

THE  STORY  or  Hia  ADVENTtraoTTs  CAREER  IK  THE  RINGWAAK 
WILDS,  AND  OF  His  FINAL  TRIUMPH  OVER  THE  ENEMIES  or 
His  KIND.  With  fifty  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"True  in  substance  but  fascinating  as  fiction.  It  will  inter- 
est old  and  young,  city-bound  and  free-footed,  those  who  know 
animals  and  those  who  do  not." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

THE  KINDRED  OF  THE  WILD 

A  BOOK  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.  With  fifty-one  full-page  plates 
and  many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"  Is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  animal 

stories  that  has  appeared;   well  named  and  well  done." — John 

Burroughs. 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAILS 

A  companion  volume  to  "  The  Kindred  of  the  Wild."  With 
forty-eight  full-page  plates  and  many  decorations  from 
drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative  .        .  |2.0<* 

"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  nr 
bu*t  in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of 
woodcraft.  Among  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Rob- 
erts occupies  an  enviable  place,"— X**  Outlook. 


THE   PAGE    COMPANY'S 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WATER 

With  thirty  full-page  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull 
and  Frank  Vining  Smith.  Cover  design  and  decorations  by 
Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Every  paragraph  is  a  splendid  picture,  suggesting  in  a  few 
words  the  appeal  of  the  vast,  illimitable  wilderness." — The 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  This  is  a  book  full  of  delight.  An  additional  charm  lies  in 
Mr.  Bull's  faithful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion 
all  their  own  tell  the  story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and 
supplementing  the  pen  pictures  of  the  author." — Literaryt 
Digest. 

THE  HEART  THAT  KNOWS 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative  .....     $1.50 
"  A  novel  of  singularly  effective  strength,  luminous  in  liter- 
ary color,  rich  in  its  passionate,  yet  tender  drama." — New  York 
Globe. 

EARTH'S  ENIGMAS 

A  new  edition  of  Mr.  Roberts's  first  volume  of  fiction,  pub- 
lished in  1892,  and  out  of  print  for  several  years,  with  the 
addition  of  three  new  stories,  and  ten  illustrations  by  Charles 
Livingston  Bull. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative  .....  $1.50 
"  It  will  rank  high  among  collections  of  short  stories.  In 
'Earth's  Enigmas'  is  a  wider  range  of  subjects  than  in  the 
'  Kindred  of  the  Wild.' " — Review  from  advance  sheets  of  the 
illustrated  edition  by  Tiffany  Blake  in  the  Chicago  Evening 
Post. 

BARBARA  LADD 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck. 

Library  12mo,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts 
lures  us  on  by  his  rapt  devotion  to  the  changing  aspects  of 
Nature  and  by  his  keen  and  sympathetic  analysis  of  human 
character." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  A  very  fine  novel.  We  unhesitatingly  pronounce  it  ... 
one  of  the  books  that  stamp  themselves  at  once  upon  the  imag- 
ination, and  remain  imbedded  in  the  memory  long  after  the 
covers  are  closed." — Literary  World,  Boston. 


from  ths 

O/ 


• 


A    000129154     1 


